


CoSL 04: For the Birds

by Dracophile



Series: Grimm-The Casebook of Sloane Larson [4]
Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, I watch too much Criminal Minds, I'll be better about that in the future, Murder, Rosalee is good a making friends, Sloane learning to work with wesen, Sloane not as heartless as she wishes, original case, part of a series, women in danger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 12:51:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15863997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracophile/pseuds/Dracophile
Summary: PART 4 OF THE CASEBOOK OF SLOANE LARSONSloane is trying to settle in to Portland, but there's a lot to get used to when you've spent your life on the road hunting wesen at your discretion. When girls start turning up dead in what looks like some sort of artistic ritual, Sloane is both disgusted and stumped. After a little friction at the station, she reluctantly seeks help from Rosalee. Rosalee in turn wants to see if Sloane is as harsh as she seems or if there's something softer hidden beneath. But can they find the culprit and find out what he is before another girl ends up dead?





	CoSL 04: For the Birds

**Author's Note:**

> This is part 4. If you haven't started from the beginning, you might be a bit confused. You can start here!  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/15129224

**“She tried to wipe off the blood, but it was to no avail, for it always came back. She wiped and scrubbed, but she could not get rid of the stain. When the sorcerer returned and saw the stain, he knew she had disobeyed and seen who he really was, and killed her like the others.”**

\------------------------

**_For the Birds_ **

\------------------------

It was supposed to be just a quiet night on a quiet street of houses. A good night for a stay at home date between a couple trying to get back on track. “More wine?” the man asked, holding up the bottle.

“I shouldn’t…”  Maggie said, looking tempted but regretful.

“C’mon, there’s just a bit left.”

“Oh fine,” she said, holding up the glass. He poured the rest of the red wine in the bottle between their glasses and set it aside. “This has been a great night, I have to admit…”

“It’s not quite over yet. I got you a little something.” He reached over the side of the couch and pulled out a small box he’d had hidden. “Just to say I appreciate the second chance…”

“You didn’t have to,” she said, taking the box with a little excited glint.

“I kind of did,” he said. “I made it for you in my glass blowing class. I have a feeling you’ll like it.”

She smiled more, opening the box. “Oh Ethan, it’s beautiful…” Maggie said, pulling  the delicate glass bird carefully from the tissue paper and setting it in her hand. It was made for opalescent glass in purples and blues, the shape like a swan about to fly off. “A Trumpeter Swan?”

“Yep,” he grinned. “Like the ones we spotted on Sauvie Island last winter. Not accurate of course, I used your favorite colors. Do you like it?”

“Of course, I love it,” she grinned, leaning in to kiss him.

“I’m glad.” They kissed gently, his arm around her shoulders over the couch to bring her in close.

Maggie smiled, but it was still hesitant. “I do love it, and I’ve had a great time, but…I’m still not sure about this. After what happened…”

He frowned but then sighed and nodded. “I know. And I know I can swear up and down that nothing happened between me and that woman—or any other women—despite what she said, but there will always be doubt,” he said sincerely. Maggie felt a little guilty at the sad expression on his face and fingered the glass bird. “I just ask that you don’t give up on us yet. I love you, Maggie. You’re beautiful and kind and sweet. You’re the inspiration of my new painting. And it’s going to be even better than this little token of my affection,” he said, tapping the bird gently.

Maggie smiled more. “I do want to see that…” She glanced towards another room. “Could I see how far you’ve gotten?”

He flinched slightly. “Ah…not yet. It’s really not ready to be seen, it’s just a sketch.”

“I love your sketches though.”

“I know, but I want it to be cleaner when you see it. Prettier. Like you.” Maggie smiled more and leaned in to give him another kiss. They kissed for a while before a phone ringing interrupted them. Ethan pulled back and gave a groan. “Sorry…that’s probably my client, I’m also working on some illustrations…He’s been riding my ass all week and calling every evening, he keeps changing what he wants. It’s going to take a while knowing him, but I need the contract…”

Maggie smiled in understanding. “That’s fine, go do what you have to do.”

He smiled and kissed her before grabbing the phone off the coffee table and heading upstairs so he could talk in private. Maggie looked at the bird, smiling to herself. Taking out her phone, she took a picture then sent it to her friend Lisa via text.

**_Maggie:_ ** _Look what Ethan made for me <3_

A few seconds later she got back a text that made her pout.

 ** _Lisa:_** _Pretty, but did you forget about the whole CHEATED ON YOU WITH MULTIPLE GIRLS thing?_ And a second later _Plz tell me you are not srsly getting back with him._

Maggie sighed, some of that elation fading.

**_Maggie:_ ** _I know I shouldn’t but he says it’s a misunderstanding_

**_Lisa_ ** _: Maggie, no. you do not need this right now. Say bye and leave and don’t fall for his weird artsy charming thing._

**_Maggie:_ ** _He’s on the phone right now…_

**_Lisa:_ ** _Then tell him bye when he’s done and LEAVE. You’re not his lapdog, you don’t forgive him for this. You are better than that and better than him. He’s not even that good of an artist!_

Maggie frowned and put her phone back in her purse with a huff. She examined the glass bird in her hands again, then she looked at the door to Ethan’s art room again. Biting her lip, she glanced at the bedroom door and then back to the art room. Standing, she quietly walked over to the door and tried the knob. It turned easily and she opened it slowly enough it wouldn’t make any noise. Inside was a large canvas tarp over most of the floor. The room was small, meant to be a home office but sufficed as an art room. It was odd that there was a tarp over the window too, but she knew Ethan valued his privacy when he was creating his own art. There were cabinets with paints and pastels, and several blank canvases leaning against the walls. In the center of the room was an easel, the shape of a canvas distinct under a sheet. Creeping forward, she gently picked one edge of the sheet up to peek under it.

Maggie blinked and then felt confusion and disgust well up inside her. “What…? What is this…?” She jumped when she heard footsteps upstairs, dropping the sheet and then fumbling the glass bird in her hand as well. She blindly picked it up and quick stepped out of the door, closing it as softly as she could behind her. Rushing back to the couch, she sat down and tried to compose herself. A minute later Ethan walked down the stairs and he paused at the bottom.

“That was easier than I thought, he just had a couple of notes for me.” He paused and seemed to go still. “…Everything okay Maggie?”

“Y-yeah. Fine.”

“You sure? You didn’t go looking somewhere you shouldn’t have?”

Maggie felt her heartbeat ratchet up but shook her head. “What? No.”

“Really?” She heard him walking over. “Because…your hand is bleeding.” Maggie gasped and looked down, shocked to see her hand was covered in blood. She hadn’t even noticed the pain till he mentioned it and dropped the bird again to look at her hand. A gash was across her palm, about two inchs wide. Ethan, much more calmly than Maggie expected, walked over and picked the bird up. “For something you said you loved, you broke it awfully fast…” Maggie looked at the bird and saw that one of the wings had broken off and cut her. “Considering there’s a trail of blood leading right to, or from, my studio…I wonder where the wing is.”

Maggie swallowed. “I…I just wanted a peek…”

“And what did you think?” he asked, his voice still even but chillingly cold.

“I-It’s…I should’ve waited, like you said, but it’s got potential…” she said, trying to smile.

“You’re lying…you hated it.”

The hairs on the back of her neck rose. “No! No of course not-”

“You broke your promise…you broke your present…you’re not the girl I thought you were.”

Maggie swallowed and then stood. “I-I should go.”

Ethan was still speaking as though he hadn’t heard her. “None of you are…women distrust me so easily. I give them everything and they still want more…They always want me to make them art, make art about them, but it’s never good enough for them…” Maggie took a breath and turned to try and leave. Before she had the door open, Ethan was behind her and slammed the door shut, making her gasp and shake. “I’ll make you art though…I’ll show you how beautiful you are if that’s what you need.”

A hand went over Maggie’s mouth and she screamed into it, trying to flail and get away even as he dragged her towards the basement door.

\-------------------------

It was two weeks after the zombie incident when things seemed to quiet down. To everyone’s relief, Nick had indeed rethought turning himself in after talking to the Captain. He still seemed conflicted over the decision on occasion but slowly things seemed to ease off.  “Thomas Shirach” was missing and presumed dead out in the woods somewhere, hopefully to remain that way.

Nick was still not sleeping well however. Or really, it was a problem with sleeping too well. Juliette woke up one night to see him pale as death and not breathing, and after a few terrified seconds he suddenly opened his eyes and seemed fine. That was strange and worrying to everyone. She began to regularly wake up to make sure he wasn’t in his death-like state again, since he couldn’t schedule a physical until two weeks out. It was a busy time of year for doctors doing physicals it seemed. He wasn’t aware of the death trances, but he had to admit there were moments where he spaced out a bit and didn’t know what happened. He wondered if that’s how it was going to be from now on. But he tried not to worry or let it interfere with his work.

Truthfully, he was more happy that Juliette was letting him over more to spend the night. Nothing sexual was done, it was still a bit too odd for her and Nick couldn’t blame her, but sleeping back in his own bed with her after talking all night about the things she was still trying to remember was progress he was happy to have.

In the morning after one such night he was surprised when his phone rang with Rosalee’s number. He answered while he finished putting on his shirt for work. “Rosalee, hey. Everything alright?”

“Not exactly,” she sighed. He heard what sounded like a car hood being slammed down. “I was wondering if you or Juliette could give me a lift to work? My car isn’t starting.”

“Seriously?” he asked in surprise.

“Yeah. It’s been acting weird for a while and I guess I put off getting it looked at too long…No smoke or anything, it just won’t turn over. I replaced the battery already, but still having trouble. I called Monroe but he has a client of his own coming by his house this morning. He can pick me up tonight no problem but I don’t want to make him miss his job, he helps out at the shop enough.”

“Uh, shouldn’t be a problem. Just a sec.” He put Rosalee on hold and walked in to glance at Juliette, who was brushing her teeth. “Hey. Rosalee needs a lift to the shop. Interested in taking her? I can too, it’s no problem.”

“Ummmm,” she said, thinking it over as she finished brushing and spit. “No, I can do it. I usually end up at the clinic a little too early anyway so I shouldn’t be too bad off if I pick her up and drop her off.”

Nick smiled at her and kissed her cheek before opening the line again. “Okay, Juliette is going to come pick you up.”

“Great, thank you and I’ll thank her too when I see her,” she sighed in relief.

“What about your car though?”

“I don’t know yet…I’ll check it tonight and if it’s still dead I might just have to spring for a tow truck,” she sighed. “The shop is doing okay, but not enough that added expenses are appreciated…”

“Well, I hope it works out…If you need more help, let us know.”

“Thanks. Talk to you later, Nick.”

“Right.” Nick hanged up and finished getting ready for work. He kissed Juliette again and headed out to his car, driving for the precinct.

\----------------

Sloane had acclimated to the precinct surprisingly well. She was not social by any means—turning down invitations for drinks or shooting the breeze with her “coworkers” any time it was offered. She tried to be polite about it and make up excuses, like settling in to town and the like, but truthfully she just had no interest what so ever and making friends. Socializing with Nick and Hank was enough for her. She had to admit, it was nice of them to give her a small file of shortcuts for the police computer programs too that she could covertly use until it seemed like she already knew them.

What was a little frustrating, to her at least, was there was no new wesen cases coming in. Sloane was used to travel and having things to occupy her mind regularly. Staying in one spot and having nothing to hunt was getting to her. It was making her fidgety. Working out in her motel room was only doing so much to distract her.

“Nick, are you okay enough to train again?” Sloane asked.

Nick looked up from reading an old case report he was working on and arched his eyebrows. They were mostly healed from the zombie incident, though he still looked a little pale at times. “Uh…I don’t know, maybe? I’ve got a physical next week to see how I’m doing…Juliette wants me to take it easy till then.”

Sloane huffed a little. “I need something to do…I finished my reports ages ago and I don’t have old ones like you two to work on…”

“I’m sure a case will come in soon,” Hank said, amused.

“Ugh…don’t make it sound like I want someone murdered,” Sloane said. “I just…I thought you said this was a good way to stay on top of wesen related crime?”

“It usually is. But maybe they’re hesitating after what happened last week to start things up again.”

Sloane snorted. “In my experience, every murder and crime is wesen-related…”

“Well, you did actively hunt for them,” Nick pointed out with a disapproving frown.

Sloane glared but didn’t have time to retort. Renard was leaning out of his office, looking towards them. “Larson. A word?”

Sloane sighed and stood. “Ohh, Sloane’s in trouble…” Nick said teasingly like a child. She rolled her eyes and flicked his ear as she passed, making him pout after her.

Renard shut the door behind her after she walked in and went to sit down at his desk again. “What’d I do? I thought I was ‘minding my manners’ pretty well,” she said sarcastically.

“As far as I know, yes, you have,” he said. “It’s not a problem about your work. I’m just curious how your first two weeks have been.”

Sloane arched her eyebrows back at him. “Um…well, aside from a few days of mass zombie panic at first…quiet.”

“Yes, we are in a slight lull when it comes to cases,” he relented.

“I could go out find one…” she suggested.

“That’s not how this job works. And we agreed, no hunting, no raising trouble, not unless a crime led you there first. And you need my approval that it is a wesen related case to handle it “off hours”.” Sloane glared but didn’t retort. “We also agreed I would assist you in finding a place to live.”

“My choice,” she reminded him.

“Yes, your choice. I don’t even need to see it. It just has to be within a certain budget. I’ll be drawing on advances from your paycheck for your down payment after all.”

“I remember.”

“Have you worked at all on that?”

Sloane shrugged. “I’ve looked at listings and what not, but I can’t find what I need.”

“And what’s that?” he asked curiously.

“Either a one bedroom with an attic or basement, or a two bedroom place. I need space for my…equipment.”

“Ah. And that’s proving difficult?”

“A little. Why the hell is rent so expensive?” she asked waspishly.

“I suppose you haven’t had to look at such things often,” Renard said thoughtfully.

“I also don’t want to live on the other side of town if I have to keep coming here…”

“Well, it is your job now. And that’s understandable, but I can’t help but feel there must be plenty of apartments or condos that fit that description still within your budget.” He eyed her. “Sure you aren’t just being picky?”

Sloane glared. “I rather pride myself on being low maintenance, thanks. I just haven’t found something that will work yet. I’ll get there eventually…”

“If you stick around,” Renard said.

“What?”

“I’m wondering if you just fear “putting down roots” as you say. Part of you still probably thinks you’ll be leaving Portland one day soon, why bother with a lease somewhere.”

Sloane was quiet, trying not to let him see he saw right through her. Truly, part of her was itching just to get out on the road again. That had been her life for at least a decade after all. It was taking a lot of her willpower to stay. But she also wanted to follow through with what she said, and keep an eye on Nick. As messed up as she considered his methods, she also had to admit he was getting results. It was intriguing in a way to see where this would lead, and her bet was still on tragedy. She’d rather be there to make sure he didn’t get himself killed.

“Try to find a place to at least put in a contract by the end of the month,” Renard finally said.

“Okay…that it?”

“Yes.”

Sloane stood and exited the office, heading back to her desk.

“Everything okay?” Nick asked.

“Yeah…just asking how my first couple of weeks have been.”

“Ah…Good to check in I suppose.”

Hank’s phone suddenly rang and he picked it up. “Griffin. …Yeah…Yeah, okay, got it.” He hanged up and stood. “Well, looks like your prayers are answered. We got a body.”

“Again, please don’t make it sound like I was asking for someone to be murdered,” she said, standing with Nick. She grabbed her gun holster, sighing as she had to leave it on pretty obviously without her jacket. Her knife she had to leave in her car because it wasn’t police issue.

“Where are we heading?” Nick asked.

“Just outside the woods apparently.”

Sloane tried to hide the slight smile she had as they headed down to their car. They all drove over separately, parking just outside the crime scene which was quartered off by tape. They flashed their badges and moved through to where crime scene techs were already taking pictures and evidence. Moving past them, Wu was there to greet them. “Hey. You two always get the weird ones. And now poor Detective Larson has to be dragged along with you.”

Sloane smirked a little, rarely referred to as “poor” like that. “I don’t mind. It’s a chance to use my brain and show what I can do.”

“Well, good luck with this one…we got a real wacko on our hand.” He gestured for them to follow and led them over to the body. Sloane frowned at what she saw. It was a young woman, in her twenties, with blonde hair and a long, graceful frame. It was sad enough she was dead, but then the way she was presented was bizarre, even from her experience. She was wearing a very crudely made white dress that looked like she was sewn into it. She’d look peacefully asleep, with her hands folded just below her chest, if it weren’t for the thick, dark red line across her neck. It appeared she’d been killed by a slash at her throat. Considering there was no blood on the ground around her, it was easy to surmise this was done somewhere else.

What made it eerie was there was also the white feathers sewn to her dress, like some kind of bird costume. More were strewn around her, soft and white and rustling like snow, in the shape of spread wings. As if she were a bird that was killed and fell to the ground.

“This…is not my usual kind of crime scene,” she admitted. “It’s very…dramatic.”

“Someone was either making a statement or wants attention,” Nick said.

“Or both,” Hank added. They all took a pair of neoprene gloves from the box offered to them by one of the techs and pulled them on, going over to look the girl over when the photographers backed off. “She hasn’t been here long…”

“Less than a day. The ranger who found her patrolled this area yesterday too. He found the body and called us right away. Whoever did this, dumped her last night,” Wu said. “The trail is open to anyone though, and no security cameras, so that’s not a lot to go on…We’re still trying to figure out the victim’s identity.”

Sloane knelt down carefully and gently pulled the girl’s head up to look at the wound. “Whatever did this was sharp and forceful. It almost took her down to the bone but tore the skin…Looks like he nicked her jugular. She probably bled out in seconds.”

“Ugh, you got a strong stomach…” Wu said.

“Pretty sure you have to have one in our line of work.” Sloane frowned. “But…the wound, the skin, and her dress are all clean…”

“Meaning someone put her in that after they killed her…” Nick said, kneeling on the other side. Hank remained standing, his leg still recovering from its injury. Nick noticed something then and reached out, gently pulling one hand away. “What’s that?”

Sloane looked as well and frowned. “It looks like…a broken glass bird?” She said in bewilderment, pulling it out carefully. Indeed it was a small blown glass bird, a swan it looked like, but its wing was cracked and missing. There was blood on it, red mixing with the pinks and purples of the glass. Nick called over one of the forensics and took a bag from them to put the bird into evidence.

“This, uh…ring any bells for you?” Hank asked them quietly.

Nick shook his head but Sloane was quiet. “It…is familiar…but different…” She looked over the victim’s body. “Bruises…scratches…” She pulled one of her feet up and frowned. “She’s got cuts on her feet too…and…glass?”

“Part of the bird?”

“No, there are different colors...and there’s a lot of it.”

“Well, Harper will get a better look at it at the autopsy,” Hank said.

Sloane nodded and set the foot back down as she stood. “It should’ve just restrained her…why glass?” she muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing, just…trying to figure out what we’re dealing with...Nothing is narrowing it down,” she said. Looking around, she started walking around the scene, looking around. “Any foot prints?”

“Yep. Got casts being made now,” Wu said. “Heavy looking boot prints.”

“I see…”

“You okay?” Wu asked.

“Yeah, just…doesn’t make any sense right now…” she said, a little frustration leaking in.

“Well, we’ll hopefully figure it out when we get her identity,” Wu said.

“Hopefully before the next one…”

“Next one?” Wu asked. “You think there’ll be more?”

Sloane blinked at looked at the scene. “…Someone went through that much trouble and artistry instead of just dumping her here. It looks like he probably had her somewhere for a while if I had to guess before she died. That is a lot of effort for a one-time thing. Someone who likes this kind of sick stuff probably is going to do it again.”

Wu looked back and nodded slowly. “No offense, I hope you’re wrong…even though you make sense.”

Nick sighed as well.

They searched the rest of the scene but didn’t find much else to go on. Heading back to the station, Sloane got to using the computer to look up the victim. Nick and Hank let her do it on her own the last couple of weeks so she could practice the systems. “Got her.”

Nick and Hank walked over. “Where?”

“Missing persons. I figured that would be the easiest to start there. Dated two weeks ago, her name is Maggie Falkner.” She showed them the picture that was given to them, what looked like a photo from time out with her friends cropped to just her. She looked happy and healthy, smiling widely at the camera. “Didn’t show up for work for two days, her boss called her sister, Jessie. She went to check on her and found she wasn’t at her apartment. All her stuff was there except her purse, which would have her wallet and phone she said. She filed the missing person’s report immediately and there haven’t been any leads till now…”

Nick sighed. “Well, we’d better talk to her…”

“I’ll give her a call…” Hank said, copying down the number and going back to his desk.

“…Someone’s going to have to tell her, her sister is dead…” Sloane said, staring at the picture.

“We’ll do that,” Nick said. “You…don’t seem the type to do that.”

Sloane glared at him a little. “What, I don’t seem sympathetic?”

“Uh…”

“It’s not my first time questioning people about the weird things that killed or took their family members.”

Nick held up his hands. “Right, sorry…” Sloane huffed a bit and reclined back in her chair a little. “Do you think this is a wesen case?” he asked quietly.

“Of course,” Sloane said without hesitation.

“Do you know what did it?” he asked hopefully.

There she paused, frowning. “…The obvious answer is an “Uccello con le Mani Diavolo.”

“...That’s a mouthful.”

Sloane’s lips twitched. “It means a “Bird with the Devil’s hands” in Italian. Germain it’s a little easier, “Teufels Kralle”, or “devil’s talon”. But I do love that Italian phrasing, especially with how dramatic this one is...”

Hank hanged up the phone then. “Okay, the sister wants to meet us right away...I said we found a lead on Maggie, but I didn’t tell her the details yet.”

“Okay...Let’s go tell the captain what we got so far.” They stood, Hank grabbing a print out of Maggie’s information, and headed to Renard’s office. Knocking, they heard him say come in and headed inside.

“Hey,” Renard said, setting down some papers. “I heard you got an odd case…”

“Yeah. We got and ID on the victim. Maggie Falkner, reported missing two weeks ago.”

“Two weeks?”

“Well, closer to two, about 20 days. It was before the zombie outbreak so I don’t think she was part of that,” Hank said.” Renard took the papers, looking them over, as well as the printouts of the crime scene. “This…is indeed very odd.”

“No odder than some of the other stuff we’ve seen lately,” Hank said bluntly.

Renard gave an agreeing glance as he looked over a photo of the glass bird. “It’s still odd…whimsically dark in a way.”

“I think it’s a Teufels Kralle,” Sloane said.

Renard looked at her and arched his eyebrows. “A Teufels Kralle? In Portland? During the summer?”

Sloane shrugged little, looking defensive. “I realize they prefer colder climates, but it matches the wound.”

“And not much else,” Renard said slowly.

“What is a Teufels Kralle exactly?” Nick asked.

Renard looked at Sloane expectantly. She sighed, shifting around. “It’s a bird like wesen, resembling a large eagel. When it transforms, so does it’s hand.” She raised her hand and hooked her first two fingers. “It turns into a group of huge talon, with one especially large one sharp enough to cut through skin, muscle, and even puncture bones.”

“It’s feathers are not white however, they’re black and gold,” Renard said.

“The’re not that numerous either, I know,” she said as patiently as she could. “Neither do they usually pose their victims like that. It usuall kills people and animals for defense or to consume their organs, primarily the liver—”

“Which, according to the initial examination of the body, are all in place with no other marks on aside from the lethal wound,” Renard said. “The glass is also inconsistent.”

“Teufels Kralle enjoy shiny things. They decorate their homes with them, anything from bottles to bits of metal.”

Renard sighed and shook his head. “Sloane, I think you’re off base on this one.”

“What? Then what wesen is it?” she said, now very defensive.

“I don’t know. But I seriously doubt it’s a Teufels Kralle. And until you convince me it a wessen, you follow Nick and Hank and do real detective work, not Grimm work.”

Sloane glared a little more at him and Renard stared her down. Hank and Nick stood back a little, glancing at one another. It was rare to find someone who would stand toe to toe witht he captain so fearlessly.

“I’m not saying it’s not a wesen,” Renard finally said. “Not yet. But there is just too much evidence that it’s _not_ your first choice.”

“...Fine. I’ll keep looking and find a proper theory,” she ground out. “Then I’ll hunt it down and cut it’s throat so it knows how it feels.”

Nick and Hank sighed a little but Renard just nodded. “Fine, so long as we can make it look like you didn’t do that yourself. But don’t forget to look for a place to live as well.”

“When did you become my den mother?” she snapped.

Nick and Hank sucked in a breath and Renard narrowed his eyes. “That’s when did you become my den mother, _sir_. And also, you can just go look at listings the rest of the afternoon then because you’re dismissed the rest of the day.”

“What?!”

Renard stood and stared her down. “You seem to forget. Here, at the precinct, I am your _boss._ I thought I made sure you understood that before you signed on. As your boss, I expect you to act like a detective and respect rank, since this is still a police matter and not a Grimm matter until you prove otherwise. So you are to leave, and not return until you do _or_ you have actual proof of what you claim.”

Sloane glared daggers at him and looked at Hank and Nick. Nick avoided her gaze and Hank held up his hands. “Hey, he’s our boss too.”

Growling, she stood up. “ _Fine._ See you later then,” she snapped, heading for the door.

Nick glanced at them before standing and rushing to catch her. “Sloane, wait!” She turned and glared back at him, obviously resentful of his silence in the room just now. “Renard does have a point...all we have right now is a wound that could’ve been made by any number of sharp objects. But,” he went on when she glared hard at him and he feared he might catch on fire. “Well...Monroe and Rosalee might know something.”

The glare didn’t let up. “Like hell I’m crawling to them!” she hissed.

“Sloane—”

“I know what I know, I don’t need your wesen friends trying to school me the way they do you, thanks.” She turned and headed for the elevator. Nick sighed, rather used to her being a ray of sunshine.

“Think she’ll be okay?” Hank said, watching her go.

“I think...she’s still adjusting,” Nick said.

“Well, I guess it’s you and me going to talk to Maggie Falkner’s sister then.”

Nick nodded, grabbing his holster and jacket to head out.

\------------------------------

In the basement, two women were huddled close together by the back wall.The ground around them was scarttered several feet deep with broken glass in all different colors, some large pieces and some near invisible in the darkness around them. They were held in place by lumps of concrete, making sweeping the glass away impossible. Their feet were bare, so if they tried to walk more than a few feet from the back wall, they would be cut to ribbons. Maggie had tried and howled in pain when small and large shards peirced her skin and she had to crawl back. Her blood was still on the ground, dried but leaving that acrid smell that only blood really has in the air.The only window to the outside world was across the see of glass at the other side, locked on their side and a peice of wood on the outside that kept out light and prying eyes and kept in the sound when they tried to yell for help.

When the door at the top of the stairs opened, both women held on tighter to one another. The light from beyond the door seemed brighter than the sun after hours in the dark. There was an otherworldly silohuette in front of the light. A man walked down, wearing heavy worker’s boots and crunching ove the glass without a care. He sat down a bowl of soup—the only meal they could expect that day. Except there was only one bowl.

“I finished the next dress,” he said. “Do I have a volunteer to wear it and be my next masterpiece?” Neither girl spoke, only sobbing. “Then I guess it’s my choice...” He reached out and grabbed the arm of the smaller of the two, a blond with faded make up. The other tried to hold on to her and pull her back as she screamed for help and cried.

“Ethan, no!” she screamed. “Stop this! Leave her alone!” In desperation she struck out and got him across the face. He paused and let go of the smaller girl. He then struck the other girl hard across the face, sending her sprawling to the ground.

“I’ll have to do your make up now...you’ll be all bruised.” He grabbed the woman by the hair and hoisted her up and over his shoulder like a sack of flour. “You’re in luck, Denise. Hannah volunteered for you.”

“No, please, don’t hurt her,” she said, though quieter and shakier than the other girl. She moved to try and go after him, but cried out when her foot hit a piece of glass and shrank back, leaving a bloody smear across the floor. Ethan’s heavy booted feet crunched over the glass without a care and back up the stairs, slamming the door shut behind him. Shaking and crying, Denise slid back downt he wall, murmering she was sorry.

\--------------------------------

“So your sister, she’s normally a dependable person?” Nick asked.

“Yes. I mean, she’s not uptight but she’s responsible,” the woman in front of him said. They were meeting with Mrs. Abigail Sweets, nee Falkner, the sister to the victim. She looked a lot like their victim, with blonde-brown hair and petite features. Her husband was next to her, holding her hand and providing emotional support.

“And she had no plans to go out of town for any reason? Work? Vacation?”

She shook her head. “Maggie would’ve told me. She has birds you see, she’d have left them with me or asked me to take care of them...I’ve been looking after them for now, since I found them alone there.” She nodded over to a large structure in the coner of the room that was covered with a sheet. Hank walked over and peaked inside, seeing four white finches mulling about in a cage the size of his torso. They twittered at being disturbed, fluttering about.

“Big cage for little birds,” he said.

“That’s the proper size for them, according to Maggie,” her sister said with a smile. “She loves birds, researched them and did bird-watching for a hobby...I think she would’ve studied them if she had the money. Instead she went into working for the ad agency.”

Nick frowned, remembering the glass bird in her hand. “Was she seeing anyone?”

“Well...off and on I think. She didn’t tell me much about him, except his name was Ethan and he was an aspiring artist...He works freelance. She got him some jobs at her agency before. She thought he was...cute and quirky. In that artistic way. He likes birds too, they met in a bird watching chat group.”

 _Sounds riveting..._ Nick thought. “No last name?”

“I can’t remember...” she said quietly.  “I never met him, I...think she thought I’d disapprove, the whole struggling artist thing. I did say it wasn’t an easy career when she first told me what he did.”

“And this bird watching group wouldn’t know him?”

“I’m not sure. It wasn’t like an official group, she didn’t have time for that. It’s an online group where you post pictures and info on what you’ve seen when you can go birding, and others can meet up with your or coroborate it. He’s the only one I know she’s met in person. They all went by screen names. I know Maggie’s was “SwanPrincess 95” and I think his was...It was a black bird of some kind,” she said helplessly. “You can look it up, it’s called “Flocking Together”.”

Nick nodded and wrote it down.

“I know what they say about strangers on the internet, but she’s known him for almost a year and half,” her husband added. “I don’t think they’ve been dating all that time, but isn’t that a bit long to consider him doing anything to her?” He squeezed his wife’s shoulder when she looked upset.

“You’d be surprised,” Nick said gently. He took a breath, knowing they’d run out of the usual simple inquiry questions. “On that note...is there anyone she was afraid of? Someone she thought might hurt her?”

The couple paused. “I...why would you ask that?” the sister said, looking between them.

“It’s a normal line of inquiry,” Hanks said. “Was there?”

“N-no, I don’t think so! Everyone loved Maggie...”

Nick sighed. “I...we found your sister earlier today, Mrs. Sweets...”

Abigail started shaking her head. “No...no, you wouldn’t be asking these things if...unless...”

Hank looked down. “We’re sorry...she was found dead and left in the woods, off one of the trails. She was murdered—”

“No! No no no,” she said, shaking her head. “I already lost my father last year, you can’t be serious that she’s...” She started crying, holding on to her husband for support.

He looked back at them, looking close to tears as well. “I’m sorry...I think that’s enough for right now...”

“We understand,” Nick said, rising. “We’ll be investigating the homicide from here on out. If you need us or have any other information, please call or come see us,” Nick said, taking out a card to hand to him. He nodded but was focusing on Abigail now. She was almost hyperventilating as she cried. They left back out to the car. “So...little bit of extra information.”

“But not much, and nothing concrete.”

“Boyfriend is a possible suspect?” he guessed.

“Yeah, but we don’t have a last name. How many “aspiring artists” named Ethan could there be in Portland?” Hank sounded like he knew the answer to that was “too many”.

“Well...cross reference it with bird enthusiasts?” he suggested.

“That means we’re going to have to go through the “Flocking Together” chat archive,” Hank pointed out.

Nick groaned and sighed as he started up the car. “...I wonder if Sloane is having more luck.”

“You mean apartment hunting?”

Nick snorted. “From what I know about her, Sloane is not spending her time “apartment” hunting...I just hope she isn’t going overboard.”

\-------------

Sloane dodged as the voged Dickfellig rushed her head and horn first, striking the wall behind her hard enough to leave a gouge in it. He growled and shook his head, turning towards her again. “Oh for the love of—I’m actually just trying to talk!” she said. He rushed her again but this time she growled back and planted her feet, grabbing him by the horn when he came close. He pushed her a few feet, but Grimm strength was on her side. It was an inherent ability a trained Grimm could call up, a short burst of strength that let her swing him around by his horn and his back into the wall. He hit hard enough his head snapped against the brick this time and he gave a shout and groan as he leaned against the wall. He wasn’t in any danger, Dickfelligs having thick skin as the name suggested as well as tough bones and joints. Just like the rhinoceros they took after. He changed back to his human form, a large black man, groaning as he cradled his head.

“Okay, now that we’ve gotten introductions out of the way,” she said, squatting down in front of him. “Yes, big guy, I’m a Grimm. Can I ask you to _not_ attack me now? You are the third wesen I’ve had to try and not fight today and it’s barely five. I can keep going but it’s just an annoyance now.”

“Don’t you Grimms just kill us anyway?” he spat.

“Lucky for you, I’ve got an agreement going on with someone else not to kill. But that doesn’t stop me from breaking bones or taking fingers,” she said with a blood-starved glint in her eye, flashing her knife. The badge she’d left locked in her glove box. “All I want is to ask a couple of questions, then we part ways with our bodies intact.”

He stared at her a few moments, still breathing hard, before looking away. “What do you want to know?”

“Good choice. I’m looking for a Teufels Kralle. I heard you keep your ear to the ground about who comes in and out of the city. So you seen one around?”

He frowned. “One of those big, velociraptor birds?”

“Yes.”

He slowly shook his head, wincing again at the pain at the back. “No, I haven’t seen any of them here...Only one I’ve ever met is up in Canada.”

“Canada?”

“Yeah. He’s a smuggler for a drug ring. I’ve had to keep his boys out of my neighborhood and I went up to personally ask he leave that shit out of my hood. Not the nicest guy. But he doesn’t come this far down, especially not in summer. Guy likes the cold, was wearing gym shorts in forty degree weather...But yeah, if one came here, I don’t know about it.” Sloane growled under her breath and stood, turning to leave. “What, no thank you?”

She turned a dangerous glare back on him. “I’m not having a great day, so don’t push me.” She headed back to her car and then back to the motel she was still staying at. She’d been asking around almost all after noon, similar to when she was trying to find out more about Samedi with the same amount of luck. That was to say, zero luck. Renard’s words nagged at her and she wondered if she was indeed hunting for the wrong type of wesen.

Her cell rang and she picked it up, seeing Nick’s number. Opening the line, she held it up to her ear as she kept laying back. “Hey...”

“Hey. How’s the “house” hunt going?” he asked.

Sloane smirked a little at the implied quotations marks. “Terribly. Can’t find anything on the kind of place I’m looking for...”

“Well, I figured we should still let you know what we heard from the sister.”

Sloane sighed and sat up. “I...appreciate that, thanks.”

“No problem. Though to be honest, it’s not much.”

“Eh, could be something in a small detail,” she said, grabbing her notebook and pen. She copied down what he said and frowned. “Well...I admit, that isn’t much to go on. She just disappeared one night?”

“Yeah.”

“And you don’t know how to track down the boyfriend?”

“No last name, so not at the moment. We’re requesting chat logs from that bird watching website, but just looking it’s already a little daunting how many “black bird” related names there are...From Ravens, to crows, to actual black birds.”

Sloane huffed a breath and let the notebook fall next to her on the bed. “...I admit it. This isn’t a normal Teufels Kralle MO. Usually they’re a little shady, but attack in self defense or on the hunt. Not active hunters of humans, they’re fine with animals. And they’re not concerned with dressing the body up like some wierd ritual as far as I know.”

“You know anything else that could fit the bill?”

“Not off the top of my head,” she admitted. “I’ll go through my files, see if there’s anything I’m overlooking.”

“Okay. I have plans with Juliette tonight, but tomorrow we could meet at the trailer to do some research.”

Sloane smiled a little more. “That’s a good idea.

“Hank is going to leave early for physical therapy and will probably be wiped from that, so it’ll be the two of us...unless Monroe or Rosalee come.” Sloane glared automatically even if he couldn’t see her but didn’t say anything. “...Your silence still says a lot.”

“I would hope so.”

He sighed. “Fine, in the interest of peace, I won’t invite them to the trailer. But I am going to call and ask their opinion.”

“Fine, but I don’t have to listen to it...How are you doing by the way?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. I mean...I don’t know what the cracher-mortel’s drugs do to a Grimm to be honest, but...you were differnet. Even from the other “zombies”.”

Nick was quiet for a moment. “Different...how?”

“Well, aside from the obvious mindless attack thing that everyone went through...your reflexes seemed up. And your strength. Hank threw something, a statuette or whatever, at you and you caught it before you even turned your head.”

“Really?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“Yeah. I mean, that kind of thing comes with time for us. Strength and reflexes I mean, and our senses get heightened. But not usually within the first couple of years. I just started unlocking it about ten years ago myself and I’ve been a Grimm for almost two decades.”

“Huh...I...don’t know really. I mean, my hearing got...supernaturally good once before. When I was blinded by a Jinnamuru Xunte.”

“You were what?!” Sloane asked in disbelief. “One of those was _here_?”

“Yeah. We had to track him down, figured out he was going to grief group meetings to find his um…victims.”

“Makes sense…Renard owes me an apology though, because if one of those came to Portland, a Teufals Kralle is not _that_ farfetched.”

Nick chuckled. “True, I suppose.”

“But it blinded you? That thing shoots like...worms that eat your eyes right?” she couldn’t keep a hint of disgust out of her voice. “How did you...”

“Rosalee,” Nick said simply. “She made a cure for it, though we had to get part of the wesens eye to do it...I managed to take him down blind though,” he said with a hint of pride.

“...Huh. I guess I should stop under estimating the fuchsbau...and you.”

“Yes, you should,” he said sagely.

Sloane rolled her eyes. “Yeah yeah...But are you okay now?”

He was quiet a moment before nodding. “As well as I can be.” Sloane frowned, not finding that much of an answer, but Nick was still talking. “I should probably get going. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Alright...Do you think Renard really doesn’t want me coming back in until I’ve got proof I’m right?”

“I think he’d be okay with it, it was more of a statement than a formal write up...but then, he’s hard to predict.”

“That’s a zauberbeast for you...but it might be his royal half too.”

“Yeah. Better safe than sorry, come in and keep your head down.”

“Okay...I’ll talk to you later then.”

“Right. Goodnight.”

“Night.” They hanged up and Sloane sighed a little, laying back down on the bed.

Nick meanwhile headed to his car, dialing another number on his phone.

“Hey Nick,” Monroe said when he picked up. “Everything okay?”

“Ah...yes and no,” Nick said. “We’ve got a weird case again.”

“Do you ever get any that aren’t “wierd”?” he asked.

“I thought I used to, before being a Grimm...Though now I wonder how man of those involved wesen too.”

“I can see your point. Let me put you on speaker, I’m at the shop to pick up Rosalee, she can help out too.” There was a pause and then he Monroe spoke again. “So what’s this one about?”

“That’s...hard to explain. We found a girl, murdered, this morning in the woods out near one of the trails. But her body...it was really wierdly staged. With feathers and things like that. No other oddness to it, just how she looked staged in the woods. Her throat was slit, but we don’t know by what yet. Sloane thinks it’s a Teufels Kralle though.”

“A Teufals Kralle? Here? Now?” Monroe asked with a perplexed look.

“I doubt that...” Rosalee said.

“So does Renard,” Nick says. “And Sloane isn’t so sure anymore either. But we have nothing else to really go on with just how wierd this case is...”

“Well, from the way it sounds, you don’t have much to narrow it down with...” Monroe said.

“Yeah...I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what the coroner says. I just thought I’d let you guys know we might need your expertise soon.”

“And we’re happy to help,” Rosalee said. “Though I’m guessing Sloane is still a bit resistant?”

“A bit,” Nick sighed. “I’d hoped after what happened with Samedi and everything, she would be a little more...open.”

“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Rosalee said. “But...I think there’s hope.”

“You do?” Monroe asked dubiously.

“Yes. She’s not a mindless, violent killer. If she was, nothing would’ve stopped her killing us or hunting. But she’s agreed to hold back so long as she’s here. She can be reasoned with. Maybe that means she’ll learn.”

“Maybe...” the blutbad said doubtfly. “But she’s still kind of frighteningly prone to threats.”

“She’s probably used to it in fighting. I can tell you some of the stuff I heard in my wilder days would shock any hardened killer. And I might’ve said some of those things myself...” Monroe smiled and chuckled.

“I guess we’ll just see where it goes...” Nick said. “How’s the car by the way?”

Rosalee groaned. “I don’t know. It worked last night, then it wouldn’t this morning. I’m too scared it’ll conk out on me to drive it far. All the towing companies I called wanted to charge an arm and a leg, even with insurance. I’m going to try it again when I get home, see if it worked itself out...”

Nick chuckled. “Good luck with that.”

“Thanks.”

“Until then, I can drive her around now,” Monroe said.

Nick smiled, knowing it was just as much an excuse to spend more time with her. “Very chivalrious Monroe.” He could see the blutbad blush and roll his eyes in his mind’s eye, with Rosalee’s amused smile next to him. “Well, I’ve got dinner with Juliette to get to.”

“Should I expect you back before midnight?” Monroe joked.

“I don’t know, but I’ll call and let you know, _dad._ ”

Rosalee laughed and he knew Monroe was just shaking his head with a smile. “Don’t make me give you a curfew.”

“Have fun,” Rosalee added.

“As much fun as you can,” Monroe added and Nick could just imagine his eyebrow waggle. Nick couldn’t help but smile and said his goodbyes before hanging up and heading home.

Juliette was nearly done with dinner when he arrived. The scent of porkchops and garlic mashed potatoes was palatable even at the front of the house. He smiled, feeling at home. It was a nice feeling after months of staying with Monroe and feeling like a long term houseguest. Juliette herself was still adjusting to things, and he couldn’t blame her. Her memories were falling into place still, but she’d welcomed him back and they were trying to find what was “normal” for them now.

“Nick, that you?” she called.

“Yeah. Dinner smells great,” he said, taking off his jacket and holster.

“Then you won’t mind setting the table.” He chuckled and went to go do so. “How was your day?”

“Eh...we, uh, had a body found this morning,” he said honestly.

“Oh, that’s awful,” she said, pausing in stirring the potatoes to come to the archway leading to the dining room.

“Yeah. Still investigating, can’t talk too much about it...”

“Does it seem...” she left the question hanging and Nick shook his head.

“I don’t know. Sloane thinks so, but...well, she doesn’t know what kind of wesen it could be.”

“Well...I’d be happy to help figure it out...”

Nick smiled a little. “We’ll see...right now, we don’t have enough to go on, even Monroe and Rosalee say so. Sloane is...stubborn though.”

“I kind of got that feeling...But then, her stubborness helped save you,” she said, walking over to take his hand. “So...I can’t fault her too hard. Besides, it must be a Grimm thing,” she said, giving him a playful smile.

Nick laughed a little. “Yeah...maybe.”

“That being said, you’re ready for your physical coming up, right?”

“It’s not something you can exactly study for...” he pointed out.

“I know...but I want to be sure you’re okay,” she said, looking at him a little anxiously.

Nick smiled warmly and kissed her forehead. “I’m...honestly glad you worry about me, if that sounds right.”

“I think I get it,” she said with a smile.

\------------------

Sloane sighed and flipped through another page of apartment listings on her phone. She wasn’t sure she’d be welcomed back at the station just yet so she was still in her motel room. Her alarm woke her early as it usually did when she wasn’t up late and she pulled a meal bar from her bag for breakfast. After that she worked out using what was around her. It was a routine, but it was also trying to burn off the frustration in her system. After more than two hours of crunches, push-ups, mild aerobics and stretching, she was a little calmer but still annoyed.  After a shower, she laid back down and scrolled through a apartment hunting website on her phone. It was late morning, close to lunch-time and she’d spent the morning actually looking at listings like Renard wanted. Nothing was standing out to her however and she was growing bored and restless.

It was a welcome distraction when Nick called her. “Hey.”

“Hey. Not coming in?”

She shrugged. “I’m still not sure our captain was joking about me not coming back.”

“Like I said, I think Renard was just trying to make a point. He asked where you were just now.”

“Ugh...Men say women are confusing, but I swear you’re the ones that make everything hard...” Sloane groused. “I’ll be there in a bit then. But my searching and asking questions hasn’t yielded anything.”

“How did you ask the questions and who did you even question?” Nick asked suspiciously.

“As nicely as possible,” she said glibly. “And I went looking for the shadier wesen of the city. They’re always around. I left everyone alive even when they attacked me, be proud of me,” she fake whined.

“Hm,” was his response, not exactly a seal of approval but perhaps a little amused.

“Any new developments?” she asked, changing the topic.

“A few. According to the coroner, Maggie Falkner was malnourished. Not starved, but definitely fed very little. Death was apparently about two days ago. You were right, the cut to her throat did nick the jugular. She did likely bleed out quickly. Nothing on the glass on her feet, or the bird either yet, except that it’s kind of cheap colored glass. Common and not useful till we have something to compare it to. Dress was made from muslin you can get cheaply anywhere and the feathers are ones you can get at a craft store. The white ones around her are likely from a pillow. And again, nothing  we can really trace.”

“So still nothing useful...”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. I still owe you a meal since you got those burgers before.”

“That was over a week ago,” Nick said.

“I don’t like being in debt to people,” she said simply. “You want me to pick you up lunch? Hank’s welcome to it too.”

Nick felt himself smile a little. “Hold on, I’ll ask.” He pulled the phone away. “Sloane’s offering food.”

“I was just thinking I could go for meat lovers sub sandwich,” he said with a smile.

“Usual place?”

“Of course.” Hanks phone rang and he picked it up while Nick smiled and put the phone back to his ear.

“We’ll take you up on that.”

“Then tell me what this usual place is before I head out,” she said, pulling her boots over.

“You could hear that?” he asked, surprised.

“I told you, the longer they live, the better a Grimm’s senses get.”

“Right...I’d like to talk more about that later.”

“Sure, but first, where am I getting food? Seriously, I’m hungry too.”

“I’ll text you-”

“Lunch’ll have to wait,” Hank said suddenly, getting his attention. “We’ve got another body.”

“What?” Nick asked.

“Did he say another body?” Sloane said over the line. “As in like the last one?”

“Yeah, he did.”

Hank talked towards the phone. “I’ll text you the address, I don’t think Renard can fault you coming to this since you weren’t formally dismissed.”

“We’re clearing that up later, I don’t get all this procedural stuff...” She muttered. “I’ll meet you there.” Sloane hanged up and quickly finished getting ready, pulling on a black zip-up sweat shirt she bought and using it to hide her gun and knife holster  at her side. She wasn’t leaving the knife behind again. Rushing out to the car, she plugged the address into the GPS in her phone and followed it. She was confused when it led her to an old, condemned office building instead of the woods. Getting out and heading over to the polcie already at the scene, Nick and Hank nodded to her and motioned her over.

“Here?”

“Yeah...A pawn shop owner a block over saw a suspicious car nearby this morning. When they came back by a couple hours later and saw it was gone, they went to take a look since this place has been used as a drug den before and he didn’t want more users in the area...” Indeed, Nick was somewhat familiar. Last year it had been the spot where the many red tents were set up for wesen to smoke Jay at the Trauminsel. “And he found...well...” He led her around the tape inside, and Sloane gaped.

“Oh my God...this is...worse than the last one...” she said quietly. It was another blonde woman, about the same age, but rather than lying down in a nest of feathers she had been forced into a kneeling position, slumped over with in a literal dead weight. Her arms were forced to rise above her head on either side with sharp wires attached to two makeshift posts of scrapmetal collected from the warehouse, like a sick marianette. Glued to those arms were more feathers, and she wore a feathered dress like before, giving her the look of a bird stretching it’s wings upward. Bits of rubish and wires, collected from around the warehouse likely, circled her like a makeshift nest. There was no blood, so whoever did this had killed her and brought her here to quickly set the stage. Leaning down slightly, she saw the large gash in her throat again. It looked like it almost ook her head off this time. There were also cuts along her hands and arms, as if she’d tried to ward off the attack.

“Yeah, this is messed up,” Hank said. “We got a serial killer who watches too much TV...though I thought they usually had a cooling off period.”

Nick frowned again and put on a glove, reaching out to gently pinch her skin. “She’s like the last girl as far as body condition...Malnourished if I had to guess.”

“So he probably had her at the same time?” Sloane asked.

“Yeah...he had multiple victims with him.”

“Now I’m worried he had more than two,” Sloane said. “...I’d say it was a Ziegevolk, but they wouldn’t just kill them and Maggie was definitely not pregnant…Not this girl either.”

“Yeah, we have dealt with a Ziegevolk before and this definitely isn’t their MO.”

“Technically two of them,” Hank said. “Though the lawyer wasn’t doing anything to girls…Just swaying juries.”

Sloane looked at them. “…One day you have got to give me a rundown of what you’ve all done in the past, I keep getting confused and interested and feeling left out…”

Nick smiled a bit at her honesty saying that. “That can be arranged then I think.”

“For now, I think we’d better focus on this case though,” Hank said. The nodded and split to walk around the scene, looking for clues. There wasn’t much of anything. No finger prints, no stray fibers that could be seen, not even foot prints now that there was a concrete floor. When Sloane went over to examine the body again she frowned when she noticed something was wrong with her mouth. It was bulging slightly despite her slack jaw. Gently pulling her head up, she silently apologized as she opened the girl’s mouth.

“Oh God!” she cursed, getting several people’s attention.

“What?” Nick walked back over as Sloane, with a grimace, put her gloved fingers inside the girls mouth and pulled out a glass bird. “Another one…as if they whole feather thing wasn’t a sick enough calling card…” She held up the glass it was different from the other, taller and thinner and colored in greens and blues. It’d been shoved back farther in her mouth to fit with its long legs, but it’s wings were also broken off. There was no blood on it this time, so she had a feeling it hadn’t been in there when she was alive.

“This psycho has a thing for birds,” Nick said, grabbing a bag to put it in.

“So did Maggie actually,” Hank said thoughtfully. “She had those pet birds and was part of a bird watching group…With that Ethan guy.”

“Do we believe in coincidences?” Sloane asked.

“I’m not ruling much out at this point. I’m starting to think these are important too, not just creepy window dressing.” He gently wiggled the bag with the glass bird.

“Weird as it is, I’m starting to agree…” She looked at the girl again and her expression grew sad as she gently let her head back down. She was so limp, like a doll, only sitting up because of the wires pulling at her arms. If she were alive it would be torture. “…No one deserves to suffer like this...” she said quietly. “Even when I hunt, I make it quick because I shouldn’t take pleasure in pain or killing…whoever did this just treated her like a thing.”

Nick couldn’t disagree. He wondered how many actual crime scenes Sloane had ever seen since she was more effected than normal. “I can’t say you’re wrong…”

She looked up at him. “Can we get her down now?” she asked, softly.

Nick was surprised how honestly sad she sounded and he nodded slowly. “I think so. We have photos and have gathered what we could. The crime techs will get her down and on the way to the coroner.”

Sloane sighed and nodded, standing. “What do we do then?’

“Head back to the station, start on identifying her, and then try to piece this together,” he said.

Sloane sighed, looking a little frustrated. When they were heading towards her car she paused. “…You guys mind if I separate from you for a bit?”

Nick frowned. “Why?”

“If it’s lunch we can pick up on the way,” Hank said.

“No, it’s just…there’s something I want to look into. If it pans out, I’ll let you know.”

“Kind of vague,” Nick said suspiciously.

Sloane rolled her eyes. “It’s not going to involve death or violence, I promise. I’d just rather make sure I’m not making an ass of myself before I divulge the idea…”

Nick and Hank glanced at each other and Hank shrugged to show he was okay with it. “Alright…just keep us updated.”

“Same to you,” she said, heading for her car. Nick and Hank climbed into theirs and they headed in separate directions. Nick couldn’t help but watch Sloane’s car from the rearview mirror, still a little suspicious. She turned off to head towards another part of town.

At the station, they started trying to figure out their new victim, using the missing persons database first since Sloane had luck there before. They divided up the names after putting in her basic description and went through looking at the photos.

“Got her,” Hank said. “Hannah Renfrew. She was a newly minted defense attorney.”

Nick walked over to look at the picture and sighed. The photo was more professional looking than Maggie’s, maybe a job or passport photo, but the smile and glint in her eye was full of life. “Last seen?”

“Twenty-two Days ago at her office at Wright and Fey Law Offices. Just a couple of days after Maggie. Her boss asked the landlord to check on her after an unexplained two-day absence and not answering her phone. Lived alone, no sign of a struggle. When no one could get hold of her, her friend put in the missing person’s report on behalf of the family.”

“Anything in common with Falkner?”

“Not that I can see, aside from looks. And even then it’s mostly just the blonde hair.”

Nick sighed and sat down. Could these two girls really just be random targets? He couldn’t see that as likely. He started looking through the file, wondering if Sloane was having more luck.

\---------------

Sloane parked along the street and sighed. “I can’t believe I’m doing this…” she muttered. Getting out of the car and paying the meter, she headed towards a now somewhat familiar Spice Shop. She took a breath and opened the door.

The fuchsbau—Rosalee—looked up from measuring out little packets of spices for quick sales. “Welcome to Exoctic Spice and-Oh! Sloane…”

Sloane glanced around. “Is the Blutbad here?”

Rosalee tried not to frown but shook her head. “No, he’s working from home today…”

“Good.” She turned the shops sign to CLOSED and then locked the door. Rosalee tensed a little, watching her carefully and glancing to the knife on the table. Sloane saw and rolled her eyes. “I’m not here to kill you. I just…need some help with this case,” she said awkwardly.

Rosalee visibly relaxed, surprised, but then smiled. “Oh! Well, that’s fine then.” She started clearing the counter. “Is it this odd “bird” case?”

“Nick already talked to you about it?”

“Yes, but just a little over the phone. We didn’t have enough information to say what might’ve done it.”

Sloane sighed. “I’m afraid I’m in the same boat there…I don’t know what kind of wesen this might be,” she admitted, sounding annoyed and bitter. She pulled out a phone and then held it out when she found a picture. “I mean, that looks like the kind of thing a large talon could do, right?”

“Oh my god!” Rosalee averted her gaze from the crime scene photo. “Sloane, you have pictures of the murder scene on your phone?!”

“Yeah…faster than sketching and helps me get down details I might need to inquire about. Like now.”

“Is that legal?”

She shrugged. “No one saw me do it and I’m deleting them after. Besides, I’m pretty sure you’ve seen worse in person.”

“Doesn’t mean I like seeing it suddenly…” Taking a breath, she looked at it again and frowned. “That’s…not how Nick described the scene…”

“This is the second victim,” Sloane said, hand tightening around the phone.

“Second? Already?”

“Yes. I don’t care who or what these girls are…were, they don’t deserve this. I want to find this thing, ASAP.”

Rosalee gave her an assessing look before taking the phone. “…I agree. This is cruel and disgusting…”

Sloane nodded. “This wesen must be pretty cold-blooded. But I don’t see a lot of the usual signs I’d expect from most species. Just a lot of circumstantial stuff.”

Rosalee sighed, handing the phone back. “Well…it could be one you wouldn’t suspect. Nick and Monroe told me about a time they had to apprehend a homicidal _mauzherts._ ”

Sloane’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re joking?”

“Well, mostly Nick. Monroe had his own problems…some Reaper sympathizers roughed him up for associating with Nick.”

Sloane blinked. That was a surprise. It never occurred to her that maybe other wesen might not like a Blutbad befriending a Grimm. She shook her head a little to dislodge that thought.  “I really need to be caught up on what’s been going on with the wesen in this city. Okay, so it might not be an obvious choice. But…a mauzhertz? I usually just ignore them, they’re hardly a threat.”

“Ah, this one managed to kill three people apparently,” Rosalee said. “Including a Lausenschlange.”

Sloane gave her a perturbed look. “Okay, I call BS.”

Rosalee held up her hands. “If I didn’t trust Nick and Monroe, I wouldn’t believe it either.”

“Huh…Well, I guess it’s possible…But then there’s no telling what did it till I can find it. And I prefer being more prepared when I confront a killer wesen…”

“Well…do you have anything that might lead you to him? Not as a wesen but as…him? I mean he must have a job or a hobby or…someway to identify him.”

Sloane frowned and then looked thoughtful. “The birds…”

“What?”

She hesitated but then pulled out her phone again. “Both victims had blown glass birds with them. One was in the first girl’s hands, the other was shoved in the second’s mouth.” Rosalee wrinkled her nose but looked at the pictures. “Nick and Hank said that the first girl, Maggie, was into bird watching, so maybe the bird was from someone or somewhere?”

“Well…they must’ve come from somewhere, maybe where they got them ties them together. I bet if you asked some of the art and jewelry shops, someone might have an idea.”

“You think?”

“Hipsters probably love this stuff, so yeah.”

“…What’s a hipster?” Sloane asked, obviously confused. “Is it like a goth?”

Rosalee smiled a little. “It’s…I’ll explain later. My point is, the people that make these sorts of things might be your best bet to figure out who made these. Artists tend to keep tabs on each other. The art district is a few blocks over, where you have small galleries and shops for this kind of stuff.”

Sloane nodded and straightened. “Okay, I guess that’s a start.” She turned to head towards the door and Rosalee rounded around her counter.

“Wait up, I’ll join you.”

Sloane whirled, looking at her in shock. “You what?”

“Hey, I helped you figure this out, I think I deserve to with you to investigate further.”

“I can do this part fine on my own,” Sloane said bluntly.

“I’m sure you can, really, but I want to help. Like you said, girls didn’t deserve that, I’m certain. I want to find out who or what did that to them and bring them down,” she said with conviction. “Plus, I know this city better than you do and the best places to look for this sort of stuff.”

Sloane frowned, her fingers tapping lightly at her side as she thought that point over. It was true, she wasn’t into the ‘arts’, she had no idea where to look for that sort of thing. “…Fine. But just for now.”

“Great. I’ll have to join you in your car though. Mine has been acting awful. I managed to get here this morning but it conked out on me when I wanted to go get lunch.”

Sloane wrinkled her nose but sighed. “Alright. Follow me. But don’t do anything rash. Nick already gets on my case about you and the Blutbad—”

“Monroe.”

“Often enough as it is. If you get hurt, he’ll blame me,” she finished. She waited for her to close up shop and then went to her car.

“Oh, your things are gone…” Rosalee said, looking at the near empty back of the car as she buckled up.

“Most of them. I got a few things stashed away, but I put most of them in the motel room. Driving around one city with them is cumbersome. I suppose that’s a another reason I _should_ get an apartment,” she said off-handedly. “I think the staff is getting suspicious and I don’t need them snooping…”

“You’re looking for an apartment?”

Sloane didn’t look particularly interested in small talk but shrugged. “Yeah. If I’m staying here for a year or more I’ll need a better place to live…”

“…Why are you staying?” Rosalee asked as they headed down the block. “Turn here and head for down town.”

Sloane was quiet a few seconds at she thought and then sighed. “As much as I inherently disagree with Nick and your...friendship, it works. And despite my best judgement, I’m curious. About how this works between him and the wesen and how he manages it and…what it’s like for him to live how he does. And if I need to rescue him. I’m also morbidly curious about what the hell is up with this town and how it’s a magnet for crazy wesen shit going on. I’ve been all over and seen some weird, sick and intriguing things, but never so much in one town.”

Rosalee chuckled. “I admit…Portland is not your typical city for wesen. I grew up here and I never realized all the things that happened in the background.”

“You grew up here?” she asked, surprised.

“Yeah. That shop was my father’s till he died and then my brother ran it until…he was killed by a couple of Skalengeks looking for drugs…” she said, looking down.

Sloane glanced at her and then back at the road. “…I’d say sorry to hear that but I doubt you’d believe me.”

Rosalee looked at her and smiled a little more encouragingly. “I might…”

“That makes one of us then,” she muttered. She followed Rosalee’s directions down to the artsy part of town, where several galleries and shops were set up among coffee shops and cafes.

“This is the Pearl District,” Rosalee said, trying to lighten the mood that was still a little dark. “It’s kind of high end and traditional, I don’t know if we’ll find it here, but it’s the closest art district. Alberta is more a contemporary district, but that’s near the airport…”

“Probably not there. The crime scenes were public places and typically killers don’t generally leave the radius of a few miles to dump a body from where the crime occurred. This makes more sense given where the victims were found.”

“How do you know that?”

“Would you want to travel more than a thirty minutes with a body in your car and risk being found? He also kept them captive for a while and he’d have to check on them often so I’m guessing he lives near there. Likely then the scene of the crime is his home or another place he has control over. A work space maybe.”

“Ah...makes sense,” Rosalee said, nodding slowly. “Given people like living close to where they work then, this might be a good start after all. There’s quite a few galleries here though, so we got our work cut out for us…”

Sloane nodded and parked the car, getting out with Rosalee to start asking questions.

They went to three galleries, asking about birds, Sloane showing a picture (without blood or wounds) of her victims. No one appeared to know anything. Rosalee mostly looked around at the art, having to admit Sloane had the questioning handled really. Despite only just being newly minted as a cop, she appeared to have the routine down.

It was the fourth gallery, called _Agron,_  when they were met with no one at the front. Sloane sighed and scratched her head. “Seems like they stepped out…”

“Do you want to move on or wait?” Rosalee asked.

“We can wait a few minutes I guess, the door’s open and it’s not like there are any better leads…”

“I’m sorry…maybe this is a bust,” she sighed.

Sloane hesitated but shrugged. “I can’t deny, it’s a good idea. This sicko is getting these birds from somewhere. Finding out where might help us find him.”

Rosalee looked at her in surprise but smiled. “You can be nice you know…”

“I _can_ be, yes,” she said a bit more impatiently.

“What I mean is…you can be like Nick. And work with us.”

“Again, _can_. Not saying I _will_. It’s convenient right now and you’re smart for a fuchsbau…”

Rosalee frowned and sighed again. “I’d be your friend too if you wanted.”

Sloane tensed and looked at her in confusion. “…I am a _Grimm._ A Grimm who tried to kill you not too terribly long ago.”

“You’re also the Grimm that worked with us to save a lot of people and our dear friend, who is also a Grimm. So you’re not a mindless killer or a bad person.”

Sloane frowned and then looked away. “I know I’m not a bad person. I hunt to protect people. Further, I’ve made it this far without close friends. I have allies and contacts, that’s enough.”

“That sounds lonely though…”

She shrugged. “Maybe to you but it works fine for me. No betrayal, no drama, just me,” she said, walking further into the gallery.

Rosalee sighed but dropped the argument. She did find it odd ‘betrayal’ was high on her list of reasons to deny their friendship.

Sloane walked over to a reception desk, looking around. She saw a card holder and plucked one up. It had the name and number of the gallery in lovely flowing script, and stamped at the side was _J. E.  Gant-Owner_. She put the card in her pocket and moved around the side to look through the exhibit. Rosalee was waiting closer to the door, looking at some pottery on display.

Sloane froze suddenly, looking at a painting on the wall. “What…in the hell?” she said, backing away a little.

“What is it?” Rosalee walked over and looked at the painting. It was more impressionist than realistic. A wash of darkness around the edges, but then a ring of white lines surrounding a bed of dark grey-green. On the grey-green was what looked like a dead, white bird with it’s wings spread out. A line of red was across the bird’s neck, spilling out into the around the light.

“That…that is our first murder scene,” Sloane said. “Substitute the bird for a girl and that is our murder in the woods!”

“Oh my God,” Rosalee breathed.

Sloane moved onto the next painting. This one, a gray bird was being lifted up by chains around its wings, the red line around its neck dripping down onto the floor. “This is the second!” she said urgently.

“Someone is painting these things?” Rosalee asked in disgust, looking them over. “There’s no signature…”

“That’s not going to stop me from finding them…” Sloane said darkly. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and pulled her phone out, quickly taking pictures of the paintings. She paused when they heard the door to the gallery open. Stalking over, she was met with a man dressed stylishly, with curly blonde hair and stubble around his jaw. He looked surprised to see them but Sloane stared him down.

“Uh, hello. Can I help you?”

“Do you work here?”

“I’m the owner, yes…”

Sloane quickly opened her jacket, showing her badge. “I’m Detective Larson. I’m investigating a homicide.”

“Oh!” he gasped. “What, near here?”

“Not exactly. I was looking into a connection to the crime.” She pulled out her notepad. “This might sound odd sir, but have you ever sold or come across any glass animals? Birds in particular.”

“Uh…well, yes as a matter of fact. We sometimes sell them here.” He gestured to a glass case near the front. “Local artists do a lot of things, even blowing glass. A friend of mine makes them and I sell them. I’m out right now though.”

“I see. Can you get his name?” Rosalee asked. Sloane shot her a look but didn’t say anything.

“Of course.” He went behind the counter and started writing something down.

“There’s something else, about some paintings-” Rosalee started, but Sloane held up a hand this time, shaking her head.

“What?” he asked, looking up.

“Just...Have you seen these women?” Sloane said, pulling out her phone and showing the missing persons pictures of Maggie and Hannah, not the crime scene photos.

He looked at them and shook his head slowly. “They’re very pretty but no, I don’t think so. Being a small gallery, I’d usually remember customers as well.”

Sloane nodded and put her phone back in her pocket. He handed her a sheet of paper. “E. Prescott?”

“That’s what he always has me write for his name. I usually call him Press so I’m blanking on his actual first name,” the owner said. “We met a few months ago when he first came in. Interesting guy, but a little…Quirky. He’s fairly well known around these parts.”

Sloane nodded slowly.

“Understood…You know, I have to admit, I’m not a big art person. But we looked around and I thought a couple of these paintings were very pretty.”

“Really?” he asked, brightening.

“Yes. I mean, their style leaves a lot to the imagination, but it’s interesting that way too. Like this one,” she pointed to one on a column that was a lot of blues and grays and greens. “Reminds me of a storm over the ocean.”

“Ah, a very good interpretation,” he said with a smile. “It’s actually called “Maelstrom.””

“Really? I didn’t see any titles anywhere…”

“Yes, I just got these in and I have to put up the information still.”

“I see…Those over there are interesting too,” she pointed to the two pictures calmly. “But I don’t quite understand them…”

“Ah, those. Yes, they’re a bit more…complex.”

“I see dying birds,” Rosalee said, trying to play it cool as well.

“Yes, as do I. One is called “The Swan”,” he pointed to the first painting of the white bird, “the other “The Crane”,” he pointed to the second. “I don’t usually like such obvious death motifs but there was something about them…And then there’s the third one.”

“Third one?” Rosalee and Sloane asked together. A cold feeling settled in their stomachs.

He nodded and pointed to the next one in line, which Sloane hadn’t even taken to be part of the collection. It was a lot of harsh reds and oranges and in the center a black mass that could be a bird melting into them. “Oh…” Sloane said quietly.

“I don’t…suppose it’s called “Phoenix”?” Rosalee asked hopefully. “Little cheerier, rise from the ashes sort of thing?”

“No, it’s called “The Raven”. The last in the series. It does certainly look like fire though…”

“I see…very interesting,” Sloane said. “Who’s the artist?”

“He wants to remain anonymous I’m afraid, even here at the gallery. Sort of a reclusive type.”

“That’s a shame…” Sloane said. “Oh, I didn’t ask yours. Your name that is.”

“John. John Gant.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Gant.”

He smiled and then looked between them. “You know, you both are very lovely…I know some painters who would love to use you as models.”

Rosalee smiled a little on reflex but Sloane shook her head. “Not my sort of thing.”

“Well, if you change your mind, please give me a call. I’ll give you my number if you like.”

“I got your card, that’s enough for now.”

He frowned a bit but nodded. “Well…Best of luck on your investigation then.”

“Thank you. Oh, but if you think of something,” she quickly wrote down her number. “Please call us.”

He smiled now. “Don’t suppose this is your private line?”

Sloane frowned. “It’s my cell.”

“Well, I feel very privileged then.” He looked to Rosalee. “And what about you? Do I get doubly lucky?”

Rosalee shook her head. “Uh, no…I’m just a consultant, so…”

“Ah, well. I hope I’m lucky enough to see you again, Detective Larson.”

“Right…” They both turned to head out of the gallery and headed back down to Sloane’s car.

“…That third picture…” Rosalee said slowly.

“I was worried there was another victim,” Sloane said, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“We have to do something!”

“Really, because I was thinking a coffee break would be great about now,” she said sarcastically. She pulled out the note and looked at it. “E. Prescott…If that stands for Ethan, maybe that’s our killer.”

“You should head back to the station then, do back ground checks with Nick and Hank or something.” Sloane arched her eyebrows and Rosalee shrugged. “That’s what cops do, right?”

“Uh…kind of new to the cop thing myself so…But I have his address right here…” Starting up the car, she pulled back out to the road. “I’ll drop you back at the shop first.”

“Don’t you need back up?”

“I’m fine.”

“But I want to help,” she said more insistently. “If there’s a third girl, I want to help get her back before anything happens.

“…I suppose I did find a lead thanks to you,” Sloane said, heading into traffic. “You sure you don’t want to head back to the shop?”

“I’m sure. Besides, with my car busted I’m feeling a little cooped up…You don’t realize how free having your own transportation is until it’s gone.”

Sloane hummed and handed her the phone and the piece of paper. “Well, be useful and look up the address then.”

Rosalee looked at her and smiled a little despite the curt tone since it meant Sloane was taking her along.

\------------------------------

Monroe was working on one of his jobs, carefully reassembling the mechanisms inside an antique pocket watch. He was just about to put one of the cogs in place when his phone buzzed and he just managed to stop his hand from jumping and losing it. Breathing out, he set it down carefully and picked it up. “Monroe speaking.”

“Hey, yeah. This is Anthony Hernandez, from The Auto Doc. You called asking us to meet a Rosalee Calvert to help her car, yeah? At this “Exotic Spice and Tea” place?”

“Uh, yeah, I called this morning.”

“Did she know we were coming?”

“No, I meant for it to be a surprise, to help her fix her car.”

“Well, she’s not here man so we can’t really do anything.”

“Not there?” Monroe asked in confusion, straightening a little. “Her car is working?”

“No, the car with the license plate you gave us is here, but there’s no answer when I knocked on the door. It’s locked and says it’s closed. Without the actual owner’s OK and the keys, we can’t do too much when you’re the one calling us.”

Monroe frowned. “Okay, um, sorry about that…Can you hang around, maybe she just walked somewhere.”

“I’ll hang for a bit man, but if I got nothing I’m heading back for another job. And they’re still going to charge you twenty for me coming out.”

“Yeah, thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” Monroe said blithely.

“Just being honest.”

“Right, I’ll call you back in a bit.” He hanged up and then dialed Rosalee’s number.

\-------------------------------

  1. Prescott’s place ended up being an old warehouse just on the edge of the Pearl District, looking shabby chic with its faded “Whitestone and Mill’s Fine Hats and Gloves” painted ad on its side. “This is the place?” Sloane asked.



“This is the address the gallery owner gave us,” Rosalee said. “He did say this guy was quirky. And in Portland that’s kind of the new normal some places.”

“Fun.” Sloane parked and moved to get out just as Rosalee’s phone rang. She looked at her curiously when she pulled it out.

“Oh, it’s Monroe…”

“Don’t suppose you’d ignore it?” Sloane asked.

Rosalee gave her an unimpressed look and hit the green button on screen. “Hey Hon, what’s up?”

“Hey, just wondering where you are...”

“You’re not at the shop to pick me up already are you?” she asked quickly.

“No, not me. I’d sent over a tow truck to bring your car to a garage for you, figuring I could help pay for it. But the guy called to say your car is there and you’re not.”

“Oh, Monroe, I’m sorry,” she said guiltily. “That was so nice of you, I’d have stuck around if I’d known, but, um…” She glanced at Sloane, who was looking impatient. “I went out to help a friend with something.” Sloane looked incredulous then, pointing to herself in confusion. Rosalee shrugged. “She picked me up and I’ve been gone the last couple of hours.”

“Oh, I see…” Monroe sighed. “It’s okay, just sucks cause they can’t do anything without you there.”

“Please tell me you didn’t already pay,” she winced.

“Don’t worry, it’ll just be twenty for them going out there. I can afford that,” he said good-naturedly. “What are you doing anyway?”

“Um, well…”

There was a pause and she could tell Monroe was thinking. “Is it something I’m going to like or not like?” he finally asked.

Rosalee sighed. “I’m with Sloane. Helping her investigate something.”

“You what?!”

“And Sloane would like to get back to investigating now,” Sloane said, opening her car door meaningfully.

“Rosalee, are you sure you should be alone with her?”

“I’ve been alone with her most of the afternoon, Monroe, it’s fine. I trust her.” Sloane gave her another baffled look before closing the door and starting for the warehouse. “Anyway, we’re just going to check out a guy who makes glass animals, it’s shouldn’t be anything dangerous.”

“If Sloane wants to talk to him, he’s probably dangerous.”

“Yes, but in that case, I think I’m safer being on the side of the Grimm, don’t you?” she said, opening her own door and climbing out.

“There’s only one Grimm I’d feel you were safe with. Does Nick know where you are?”

“We haven’t found anything concrete yet, so…probably not.”

Monroe groaned slightly and she knew he was palming his face. “Just…be careful.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too. Which is why I want you back in one piece.”

“Understood. I’ll see you later, bye.”

“Bye,” he said reluctantly as he hanged up. Rosalee put her phone in her pocket and jogged to catch up with Sloane, who was knocking on the door around the side of the building.

A moment later it opened and a man with broad shoulders, tan skin, dark hair in an undercut and a handle-bar mustache with bleached tips opened up. He was wearing a heavy apron over his front, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off sleeves of tattoos that flowed from flowers to skulls to pin-up girl dressed like a mariachi player surprisingly easily. “Hello?”

Sloane eyed him critically before opening her jacket to show her badge. “Detective Sloane Larson, Portland PD. Are you E. Prescott?”

“Yeah, I am,” he nodded, looking surprised. “Something I can do for you?”

“We’re looking into some suspicious deaths and your name has come up in our investigation.”

He froze. “M-my name?”

“Yes. Mind if we have a word?”

“U-um, sure…come in.” He opened the door, gesturing for them to enter. They did and the immediate area they entered was a huge glass blowing workshop. There were stacks of bottles and glass animals and other figures on shelves across the way, a kiln nearby pumping out enough heat Sloane and Rosalee already felt a little warm. “How could my name come up? I mean, I’ve been here all week…”

“This is your workshop?”

“Yeah, but I live above it,” he pointed up. “I converted the offices into an apartment. Makes things easier, I just come down here to work. And that’s all I’ve really been doing this week, aside from going for groceries.” He was twitching nervously.

“And can anyone confirm that?”

“Um, no…I live alone and no one’s come by this week…But seriously, why are you asking me that?”

Sloane was still glancing around and then walked over to a shelf, picking up a glass blown horse. “Some glass animals were found at a crime scene, very purposefully placed on the bodies. You’re the first name we’ve gotten in relation to making them.”

He swallowed, chewing on the end of his mustache. “S-seriously?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I-but I’m not the only one! I mean, I give classes on it…”

“You seem nervous,” Sloane said, putting the horse back down a little close to the edge.

Prescott straightened and tried to steady his voice. “I’ve never been part of a police inquiry before…”

“Do you know a Maggie Falkner?” Rosalee asked. Sloane eyed her a bit annoyed but Rosalee shrugged, not wanting to stay quiet forever.

“Maggie Falkner? Um…the name sounds familiar, but I don’t think I’ve met her…”

“Then why does it sound familiar?” Sloane pressed, moving towards him slowly.

Prescott moved back a little. “I-I don’t know! I just feel like I’ve heard the name!”

And just like that, he suddenly woged. He grew black feathers that tinged blue in the light over his head, and a long pointed black beak as well. His eyes grew large and dark, and there was just a hint of white feathers curling up from his neckline. His head cocked like a birds for a moment before his beak opened with a frightened, squawking shout and he woged back, trying scramble over the table. “Grimm!”

Sloane looked surprised but underwhelmed as well. “A Teanga Fola? Really?”

“A Teanga Fola?” Rosalee asked, looking at him in surprise. She couldn’t see him woged but took Sloane’s word for it. “I wouldn’t expect they’d murder people…”

“We wouldn’t!” he said, still trying to get away from Sloane despite being backed against the wall. “That whole thing about us bringing bad luck is a myth!”

“Well you’re pretty unlucky right now,” Sloane glared, advancing. She grabbed him by the throat, lifted him one handed in a surprising show of strength, and pinned him to the table. He gasped and tried to kick away until she tightened her grip. “You tell me where the third girl is right now!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he gasped, trying to struggle more. A few in progress projects fell to the floor and shattered.

“Don’t play dumb with me! We’ve had two murders and the bird theme just keeps on rolling.”

“What?!”

She pulled out her phone and brought up one of the pictures from the crime scene. “You still don’t recognize her?”

“Oh my God!” he gaped. “I-You think I did that?!”

“I’m pretty damn convinced, and if you don’t tell me where your third victim is—and she’d better be alive for your sake—I’ll start carving the truth out of you!”

“Sloane, calm down! He might be telling the truth!” Rosalee said, quickly rushing over. She didn’t touch her, hesitating and unsure how to break them apart.

“You saw those paintings! If there’s a third girl, we need to get her out of here now!”

“I don’t…paint!” Prescott gasped out. “I do glass…and pottery!”

“Like I’ll believe you,” Sloane growled, putting her phone away and pulling out her knife. “Now start talking or I’ll shave off that mustache of yours a little too closely, Ethan.”

“E-than? I’m not Ethan!” he shouted.

“Again, not believing a “blood tongue”,” she spat, bringing the blade close to his eyes. “Talk or I take an ear!”

“Sloane!” Rosalee said. “Stop it!”

Prescott struggled more. “I’m not Ethan!  Look at my ID, it’s in my wallet on the table!”

Sloane was already bring the knife close when Rosalee rushed over and grabbed the wallet, quickly fumbling it open. “He’s telling the truth! His name is…Elwood?” she read in surprise.

Sloane paused and looked up, her hand loosening. “Elwood?”

“There’s a reason I go by Press…” he said, panting as he drew in more air finally. “Elwood Prescott sounds too preppy, so I just use my first initial and then Press, which sounds…unique but less dorky…?”

“You could’ve given the girls a fake name,” Sloane said, still not letting him up.

“I don’t like girls!” he said. “Or boys! I’m asexual and aromantic, I don’t want a relationship now or ever, so why would I be giving any girl a fake name?!”

Sloane blinked. “I…That’s a thing?”

“Yes!”

“…You’re serious.”

“Yes! I take that very seriously! Now please, just let me go…” he sobbed.

Sloane hesitated and looked at Rosalee. “I don’t think he did it,” Rosalee said honestly. “He could be a great actor, but there’s nothing besides the glass animals that really point us to him…If you kill him, Nick and the others will know.”

Sloane took a deep breath before taking her hand off his throat and stepping back. He quickly scrambled up and moved away, rubbing at his throat. “…Sorry?” she said lamely.

“Sorry? Sorry?! You just threatened to carve me up like a turkey and you’re sorry?!”

“Hey, I’m trying to find a girl who’s probably going to be murdered, I’m under a lot of stress,” she bit out.

“We are sorry,” Rosalee said.

“Are you a Grimm too?”

“Um…no, but I’m a wesen.”

“Working with a Grimm? I’ve heard about you…I thought you helped wesen too…” he said, calming a little.

“Different Grimm,” Sloane spat. “Look, if you’re a dead end, we’re better off just leaving. As far as you’re concerned, we were never here.”

He held up his hands. “Right, yes, agreed. Please leave…”

Sloane huffed and turned to go but Rosalee gently caught her arm. “Wait, he said he gave classes earlier, didn’t he? Maybe he’d recognize the birds.”

Sloane arched her eyebrows but then dug out her phone and brought up the pictures of the birds. “You ask. I don’t think he cares for me much.”

“I can’t see why,” Rosalee said sarcastically, taking the phone.  She walked over, holding it up. “Press, if you could tell us if you recognize these, we’d really appreciate it. They could help us save a girl’s life and bring a killer to justice if you know who made them or bought them.”

He hesitated but moved close to look. “Um…I can’t really say who, sorry, but I can tell you it was an amateur. These things would break if you tapped them with wet spaghetti noodle. They were probably made with an improper kiln by someone just learning.”

“So not yours?”

“No, not mine. The bird thing is familiar though…”

“But that doesn’t help us,” Sloane said, grabbing her phone back. “We’re out of here.”

She turned to head out and Rosalee looked apologetically back at Press. “I’m really sorry about this…Um, if you think of anything, call us.” She pulled out one of her own business cards and handed it to him, scrawling her cell on the back quickly with a pencil on the table. “Anything you think could help us catch this guy before he kills someone else…” Press frowned but nodded, taking the card. Rosalee turned and quickly headed to the car outside where Sloane was impatiently waiting. She hesitated as they climbed into the car but gave Sloane a critical look. “You took that too far in there.”

Sloane paused in starting the car and leveled a glare at her. “I did what I thought was necessary.”

“You almost disfigured the wrong man!”

“Says you, but I’m not convinced he’s not lying still.”

“Sloane, what reason does he have to keep lying? He knows you’re a Grimm and he was obviously terrified of you, he wasn’t faking that, I could smell the fear. He’d have cracked right then and there if he was our guy.”

Sloane huffed and then folded her arms. “Fine, okay. But that leaves us back near square one with a girl’s life still hanging in the balance.”

“True…”

Sloane sighed and then started the car. “I should take you back to the shop. I’ll meet up with Hank and Nick to continue.”

Rosalee was a little disappointed but nodded, figuring that she was already on edge and it was best to humor her. “Okay…maybe I can still catch that mechanic Monroe called for me and get my car into the shop.”

“Yeah, great. I’m just hoping Nick and Hank have had some better luck than us. And that the Teanga Fola doesn’t actually bring bad luck.”

\------------------------------

Nick stretched his back in his chair, grunting softly. They’d been researching both Hannah Renfrew and Maggie Falkner more thoroughly, looking for any sort of connection. Nothing was really connecting however. They had different jobs, lived miles apart, and didn’t appear to have any connections. Nick had contacted Hannah’s work, her landlord, and her brother who lived in Salem, Oregon. That last one he had to leave a message to call him and he was dreading giving more bad news to a family that no doubt was still hoping Hannah was a alive. “Got anything?”

“Nothing. Both of them have clean records aside from a couple of speeding and parking tickets…” Hank said with a sigh.

“We’re missing something,” Nick said. “Something must’ve connected these girls besides how they died…” He looked up when he saw Wu purposefully walking over to them.

“Hey guys, you have a visitor,” he said.

“A visitor?”

“Yeah. A Lisa Alvarado. She says she’s a friend of Maggie Falkner, wanted to see if she could be of help.”

Nick and Hank looked at one another and nodded, standing. “We’ll talk with her in one of the interrogation rooms.”

“Okay, I’ll bring her back.”

They headed for one of the rooms. Moments later Wu led a tanned woman with dark hair in. She was wearing sunglasses but took them off when she was inside. She had obviously been crying earlier, her eyes red and swollen and her expression morose. She sat down in the offered seat, looking around. “Never thought I’d be in one of these rooms…”

“We just thought it was more private and quiet so we could talk,” Nick said gently. “We’re sorry about your friend.”

She nodded little, swallowing. “…I sort of knew. I mean…after two weeks with no word, I just knew…either someone had taken her and wasn’t going to give her back or she was…” She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “I didn’t say it out loud, like it would keep it from being true, and I didn’t want to upset Abby…but I knew. I was trying to get the police and more people to look, but there were a lot of other disappearances around then…they just assumed Maggie was one of them.” She glared a little accusingly. “And even after the others were found, they didn’t take looking for her seriously.

Hank and Nick both felt a pang of sympathy. “We’re sorry about that, really,” Hank said.

“They should’ve kept looking!” She sobbed and then wiped at her eyes.

Nick sighed, hoping this didn’t derail too much. “How did you know Miss Falkner?”

Lisa took a deep breath, sniffling. “We met in college. Same dorm freshman year and got along so well we even switched roommates around the next semester to be together. She is…was a good friend. One of my best.”

“Do you remember what happened before she disappeared?”

Lisa nodded slowly. “I replayed it over in my head a lot…normal day for me really. I work at an accounting firm, just a day of audits and number crunching. Maggie and I texted at least a couple times a day, just updates on things. She texted me that evening…I got upset with her though…” she said guiltily.

“Why?” Nick asked.

“Her boyfriend, Ethan. Well, Ex-boyfriend. They’d just broken up a couple of days before, to my relief.”

Nick and Hank both perked up with interest. “Really? Her sister mentioned an on again, off again boyfriend.”

“That’s him, Ethan.”

Did you bring this up before when the missing person’s case was opened?”

“I tried, but I don’t know him well so I didn’t have a lot of information on him…” she admitted.

“What do you know?” Hank asked. “Have you met him before?”

“Not really, but Maggie told me a lot about him. Even second hand, I always kind of thought he was weird.”

 “She said they met on a bird watching site?” Nick asked.

“Yeah, but that’s not too weird. I mean, it was Maggie’s hobby, I was used to it. They went out together to look at trumpet swans and all these other birds too. But from what she told me he was always a little…odd. An artist, but like one of those pretentious artists. And I honestly didn’t care for his attitude, or his art. Neither did her bosses when she tried to get him a job. It was all fast strokes and blurry lines that you had to like squint to see something or use your imagination…”

“Impressionist?” Hank asked. Nick glanced at him with a raised eyebrow and he shrugged. “Dated an art major in college, learned some stuff.”

“Yeah, that. I mean they were okay, but not really what they’d use in advertising…he got kind of diva on Maggie when he was rejected. Being all “They don’t understand”. That’s when things started kind of getting rocky. Then she got contacted by this lady who said _she_ was Ethan’s girlfriend and basically that he’d been cheating this whole time with a lot of girls and that kind of sent it into a nosedive.”

“I see, so they broke up recently?”

“Well…they were supposed to. Then he asked her to dinner at his place to try and smooth things over. I told her not to go…” she finished quietly. She pulled out her phone and quickly brought up the text conversation. “This is what she texted me and I told her how much I thought she should just ditch him.”

Nick took the phone and looked at the texts, then stopped on the photo of the glass bird with a sudden ratcheting of his heart. “This glass bird…”

“Ethan gave it to her that night to try and smooth things over…”

Nick and Hank looked at one other again before back to her. “Can you give us any of Ethan’s information? Last name would be especially helpful, or his phone number.”

“Um, some of it I think…” He gave her a pen and took a piece of paper from his the file she could use to write on. When he uncovered the piece, she saw the file photo of Hannah. “…Hey…that’s one of the girls Ethan was having an affair with!”

Nick looked at the photo and turned it around. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah! Apparently she bought some of his art for her office or something. She contacted Maggie and another girl and they all broke up with him at once. Maggie didn’t want to believe it and asked me to look at her facebook to see if I thought it was fake. It wasn’t fake, I was sure, my office has dealt with hers before.”

Nick and looked at Hank but the other detective leaned forward. “You said it was her and another girl?” Hank said.

“Um, yeah…Maggie said he was seeing two other girls at least, I’m sure. This one and another I never saw…”

Nick tried not to curse and stood. “Excuse me a moment, I need to make a call…Please write down everything you know about Ethan.” He quickly went to the observation room, pulling out his phone.

\----------------

Sloane was still driving back towards the spice shop when her phone rang. She pulled over into a parking lot and pulled it out, seeing it was Nick. Answering it, she glanced at Rosalee. “Hey Nick…”

“Hey, where are you?”

“We’re heading to the Spice Shop.”

 “We? The Spice Shop?”

Sloane grimaced but sighed. “The Fuchsbau’s with me…”

“And she’d like to be included on this conversation,” Rosalee said coolly. Rolling her eyes, Sloane pressed the speaker button. “Hey Nick.”

“Rosalee? You’re helping Sloane?” he asked in surprise.

“Yes, she actually came seeking my advice. And it worked…mostly,” she amended at Sloane’s dubious expression.

“She figured we should look into the glass birds and helped me navigate the Pearl District. The only place we found that had them was a gallery called “Argos”. Unfortunately the lead from there was a bust.”

“Really?”

“Well…the artist is wesen. A Teanga Fola.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a bird-like wesen, they love shiny things, so I got a little excited thinking we were on the right track with all this other bird-brained business.” She shot Rosalee a warning look not to mention threatening him. “But he’s harmless. Just a glass blower, who teaches classes too so there are other people who do this weird hobby in the city apparently. His name is Elwood Prescott, not Ethan, according to his license. I’ll double check him and a few things when I get back but for now he’s dropped down.”

 “Elwood? Don’t here that much these days…” Nick said.

“There’s a bigger problem,” Rosalee said. “We think there’s a third victim.”

“You do?”

“There were some creepy paintings that resembled our murder scenes pretty damn closely at that gallery too,” Sloane agreed. “The subjects were birds, but one was a dead swan in a circle of feathers and the other a dead crane in chains. And there was a third one.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I’ll send you them.” She clicked through to send them via text. She could practically hear Nick grimacing when he opened them.

“This bird thing is just getting weird…I miss straightforward messed up cases, these artsy ones are creepier.”

“Agreed.”

“That’s not the most troubling part, Nick,” Roslaee said. “Sloane didn’t get a pic of the third one, but we saw it. If I had to guess, it looked like this victim was going to end up killed and then burned!”

“Shit,” Nick said. “We think there might be a third victim too. Maggie’s friend came in to give us some information and she said that Ethan was cheating on her with two other girls, one of whom was Hannah. So if there’s another girl, it’s probably this other woman.”

“So we’re making the right connections,” Sloane said. “What else did her friend say?”

“Hank’s with her while she writes it all down.” He looked through the glass where Hank was still going over things with Lisa at the table.

“We need a last name more than anything. Give me that and maybe I can go back and ask the glass blower if he’s had any students by that name.”

“Right…” He quickly went back out of the observation room and opened the door where the two were together. “Lisa, you said you might remember things about Ethan? What’s his last name?”

She bit her lip, thinking. “I…I think it was Grant? Something that started with a G…”

“Grant…”Sloane asked, straightening.

“That hearing is a little freaky, I’m going to be honest,” Nick said quietly.

Sloane wasn’t listening, pulling the gallery card out of her pocket. “J. E. Gant…JOHN ETHAN GANT?!!”

Nick flinched but then looked at Lisa. “Could it be Ethan Gant?”

“Yes! That’s it!”

“Oh, that little…” She practically threw the phone to Rosalee, putting the car back in drive and doing a very illegal pull out from the parking lot that had a lot of cars honking at her.

“What’s going on?” Nick said.

“The gallery owner, his name is John Gant,” Rosalee said, holding on to the bar at the side of the car for safety. “But he has the middle initial E and I think Sloane has made a connection. I’m pretty sure Sloane is heading back to the gallery.”

“Sloane, don’t do that! Wait for us!”

“Like hell!” She shouted, zooming through back towards the art district.

“If he has someone hostage—”

“Then she’s my priority!”

“Sloane!”

Glaring, she grabbed the phone back from Rosalee. “Oh, you’re breaking up! Can’t hear you!” She ended the call, and then shut her phone down, throwing it in the back seat.

“You sure about this?” Rosalee asked.

“I’m sure I’m going to kick this guy’s ass, yes. You can stay in the car.”

“Oh, like that’s going to happen,” Rosalee said. “You aim high, I’ll aim low.”

Sloane couldn’t help a little twitch of a smile at that.

\------------------------

Nick growled as he cut his phone off after trying to call Sloane back and got her voice mail right away. He quickly opened the door again. “Lisa, do you know if Ethan is connected a gallery called “Argos”?”

“Um, yeah, he owns it I think…Usually sells most of his own works there. And a few of his friends.”

He gave Hank a very pointed look and Hank stood up. “Ms. Alvarado, I’m going to ask that you give the rest of your statement to one of our officers, I believe this gives us a break in our case and we need to hurry.”

“Um, alright…” she said, watching as they rushed out.

“Sloane is on her way to that gallery and Rosalee is with her,” Nick said hurriedly once the door was closed.

“What?”

“They went their earlier. I guess they got to the same conclusion a little faster. But the point is, Sloane is going to confront this guy now and we need to get down there.”

“I’ll get the address, you get someone in with Alvarado,” Hank said, heading for his computer. Nick got Wu to go in and talk with their witness while he got ready to head out. He was just about to leave when his phone rang and he picked it up without looking. “Sloane?”

“Uh…no, Monroe,” Monroe said.

“Oh, Monroe…Uh, sorry…”

“No problem…everything okay?”

“Yeah, just uh, about to go track down a lead on our case. Sloane thinks she’s found the killer and is going to confront him.”

“Oh, so Sloane and Rosalee successful in their investigating?”

“In a manner of speaking…Was there something you needed?”

“Not really, just calling to see if you or someone could pick up Rosalee when they get back to the shop, she texted me they were on their way back. My client is running late and still insists on picking  up their watch today.”

“Her car is still out of commission?”

“Yeah. I sent someone to look at it but Rosalee had already left with Sloane. You know, I didn’t think she’d deign to work with a wesen again...She’s full of surprises.”

“She’s full of something alright,” Nick muttered.

“…Nick…Sloane didn’t drop off Rosalee yet…is she still with her while she’s heading for this serial killer.” Nick was silent and Monroe cursed. “Oh my God!”

“Monroe, calm down—”

“Calm down? Rosalee is tracking down one psychopath with another psychopath!”

“She’ll be fine, Sloane promised not to hurt her.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the same as making sure she’ll be okay!”

Nick sighed. “Look, we’re going to catch up with them now, I’ll make sure Rosalee will be okay.”

“I’m coming with you then!”

“Monroe, we can’t detour to pick you up if we’re going to catch up to them,” Nick said calmly. “And I’m not telling you the address so don’t ask. Having you show up suddenly isn’t going to help this time, it’s broad daylight and we’re going there as police.”

He could hear the blutbad moving around in frustration before giving a growling exhale. “Fine! But you better update me!”

“I will, I will,” he said soothingly. “I’ll call you when we find them.”

“Okay…But if anything happens to Rosalee—”

“Try to stay calm—”

“No, you listen! If anything happens to Rosalee, I don’t think you’re going to be able to stop me from going after that woman,” Monroe said darkly.

Nick took a breath, knowing Monroe’s eyes must have been turning red. He needed to be the calm, rational one right now. “I understand…Talk to you later.”

“Yeah, later.”

Nick sighed as he ended the call, hoping this was all going to work out.

\-------------

Sloane was close to the gallery when she stopped and parked a little ways away but in view of it. “Sloane? Why did we stop?”

“I don’t want him to know we’re coming. Because I’m going to have to get the girl’s location from him, which is going to be time consuming and probably messy. I generally prefer privacy when I stab a man multiple times, so I have to secure the area.”

“…Not sure if that was a joke or not…”

Sloane parked and then climbed out, heading for the gallery, Rosalee close behind. They came up short however when the found the inside was dark and the door was locked. “Dammit!”

“He must’ve already headed home…” Rosalee said.

“Or where the girl is…If we’re lucky it’s one in the same. I really don’t want to call Nick though…” She started around the side, Rosalee quickly following again. They went down the side alley and around to the back of the building. She paused at the back door to the gallery and glanced around before she reached into her jacket and pulled out thin black pack of something. Opening it, Rosalee was shocked to see a set of lock picking tools.

“Are you serious? You can pick locks?”

“You can’t?” Sloane asked breezily, kneeling down.

“No…Monroe can.”

“Good for him, now keep a look out. We go in, we find something with his address and we get ready to kick his ass whenever we find him.”

Rosalee didn’t argue, looking out at the opening of the alley and hoping no one was going to follow them. It took Sloane a couple of minutes, but she got the door open and they got inside. Sloane headed immediately for the back office, growling when it was locked too and starting work on that lock. Rosalee stood guard again, staying out of sight from door. She glanced where the bird pictures would be, intent not to look like, to find they were gone. In fact, all the paintings were gone. “The walls are suddenly very bare…”

“He’s probably planning to skip town,” Sloane said matter-of-factly. Rosalee glared, not wanting him to get the chance.

Rosalee jumped and Sloane paused in her work when a cheery, trilling tune echoed in the darkened gallery. She looked at Rosalee with a quirked eyebrow and she smiled apologetically as she pulled her phone out of her purse. “Sorry…” Sloane just rolled her eyes and went back to working on the lock. Rosalee looked at the phone and frowned at the unfamiliar local number. Taking a chance, she accepted the call and put it to her ear. “Rosalee Calvert.” Sloane shot her a look again, not approving of taking a call while they were breaking into a place, but Rosalee ignored her.

“Um, hey…This is Press. Uh, Elwood Prescott.” He stressed the Elwood.

“Oh, hello Mr. Prescott,” she said. “Um, if this is about earlier, I promise, my friend is very sorry.” Sloane snorted.

“Um, it’s kind of about earlier. I’ve been wracking my brain because I do want to help if there’s a girl in trouble and…I came to a pretty bad realization. If you’re looking for an Ethan, I’ve been teaching a guy named John Ethan Gant how to make glass sculptures, and he usually goes by his middle name. I considered him a friend so I didn’t want to admit it might be him…”

Rosalee tried not to sound put out or like they already knew, but also loud enough to get Sloane’s attention. “Your friend is John Ethan Gant? So you think he might be responsible for this?” Sloane paused again and looked up a little more interested.”

“Yeah. Maggie Falkner, I know he mentioned that name at some point. And a couple of weeks ago he bought some glass from me but said he wanted to practice at home. I haven’t seen him since and I didn’t see what he made, but I know he likes birds too. Ironic I know, but he doesn’t know what I am.”

“Yes. Um, do you have an address for him?”

“Yeah, but like, if he’s not guilty…that Grimm isn’t going to hurt him, is she? I don’t even know if he’s wesen or what kind if he is, but if he’s innocent-”

Sloane took the phone from Rosalee. “This is the Grimm. We have some other evidence that points to your friend. We actually questioned him earlier and he pointed us in your direction, saying you might’ve made the glass birds we found. Possibly so he could clear out his gallery and skip out. We’re there and it’s bare as bones.”

“…I don’t want to believe you, but then he seemed to have gone off the deep end recently and you have no reason to lie, huh?”

“Not at the moment, no. We need his address so we can take him down and hopefully find that other missing girl.”

“Right. I know it, I’ll text it to Miss Calvert then. Um, Miss Grimm?”

“Yeah?”

“I really hope you get him and get that girl back safely.”

Sloane was quiet a moment before sighing. “Me too.” She handed the phone back to Rosalee and they quickly headed back out to the cars. The address came through a couple of seconds later and Rosalee plugged it into the map, giving her directions.

They ended up in a rather lower middle-class looking neighborhood. The houses were small, old, and not very well maintained, but the neighborhood was quiet. They passed by Gant’s house, a squat brown craftsman. Sloane sailed on past the house, keeping an eye on him out her rearview mirror. A car was in the driveway and she turned the corner and parked a block over.

“Sure you don’t want to wait in the car?” Sloane asked, checking on her knife and pulling out a few other tools from the back seat.

“I’ve come this far, and I’ve done things like this before with Nick and Monroe…”

Sloane nodded and didn’t argue further. They got out of the car, walking back towards the house. She glanced at the windows, but didn’t see him looking out at the street. Once they were at the side of the house, she quickly skulked closer with Rosalee behind her. She put a finger to her lips and then leaned against the side of the house, moving around until she could just barely see through the thick curtains. There was a mess of material and feathers all over the floor in the living room. Gant was sitting in the middle of it, sewing by hand like a madman what looked like a simple white dress. There was a bucket of black paint next to him and she had a feeling that was to make his “Raven”.

She pulled away and motioned Rosalee to duck out of sight just to be safe. She spoke quietly just near enough to each other they would be the only ones to hear. “He’s in there, and he’s making a dress with feathers on it.”

“So he’s getting ready to kill her? I mean…she’s not already dead?”

“I don’t know. The others were before they were put in the dresses. We need to figure out where he’d keep her…” She looked around and froze when she saw the basement window, covered in ply wood nailed into the frame. Rosalee followed her gaze and then looked at her in understanding. Kneeling, Sloane they gripped the ply wood and pulled, trying to be as silent as possible. Luckily the nails weren’t long and they pulled it out enough they could look into the gloom of the basement. There were the usual things you’d find in a basement like boxes stacked in a corner, shelves of old art supplies, a water heater, etc. But there was something glittering on the concrete floor in the light too. Like stars spilled across the floor. Tilting her head, she was able to discern it was glass. A large amount of glass was on the floor, like a minefield. She crouched down to get a better look and sucked in a breath. In the corner of the far wall she could just make out the huddled figure of someone curled up on the floor.

“I think I see her,” Sloane said softly.

“Then we need to get in there!” Rosalee hissed.

Sloane set the board back in place gently. “He’s going to hear me if I break in here…We need to distract him…”

“I could knock on his door? Say I had car trouble? It’s not a lie, just the car isn’t here…”

“He’d recognize you from earlier today and wonder how you found his house,” Sloane said.

Rosalee frowned, knowing that was probably true. Then she perked up and prodded Sloane. “You still have his phone number?” Sloane blinked then smirked a little and pulled the card out of her pocket. Rosalee took it and rummaged through her purse for her phone. “I’ll call him, try to distract him a while.”

“Go a little further out, somewhere he won’t see or hear.” Rosalee took the phone and nodded, quickly moving around to the back of the neighboring house. Sloane maneuvered so she was below a window and slowly straightened to look in again. Gant was holding up the dress to admire it and she grimaced when she saw it was almost done. When a tinkling ringtone was heard Gant paused but then stood and turned. Sloane quickly ducked back down and pressed herself against the wall. Closing her eyes, she focused her hearing as best she could. It was muffled, but she could just make out Gant’s voice.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mr. Gant? This is Rosalee Calvert. We met earlier today, I was with Detective Larson?”

“Ah, yes. What can I do for you?”

“Well, I was hoping I could talk to you a bit about some of your paintings. I was thinking about buying one, for my apartment. But I’m just not sure which…and it seems your Gallery is closed for the evening.”

Gant sounded pleased but also apologetic. “I’m happy to hear that, but I actually took all my stock out earlier to do a bit of renovating.”

“Oh, I see. Well, that’s actually what I’m doing too, but I’m having a lot of trouble figuring out what I want to do. I’m willing to buy privately, but first I was hoping you could maybe help me decide the best look. I mean, you’re an artist with his own gallery, you probably have a lot of experience. Some know how on…finding your vision.”

“Well, I mean, it’s more of a natural ability. Some study it, others are born with it.” Sloane rolled her eyes at the superior tone. The man was quite a piece of work.

“Right…I don’t want to trouble you. I’m…I’m just hopeless when it comes to art really. I need a little coaching I think. I’m not even sure what the difference is with contemporary or modern works. I’d imagine an expert like yourself would know quite a lot.”

“Oh, well, that’s very kind of you to say…”

Sloane couldn’t help but smile a little as she moved towards the plywood again. _The fuchsbau knows just how to get a man talking..._ Slowly she pried the wood all the way off, using her knife to help ease it away slowly and trying to be quiet about it. The sound and the sudden light got the attention of the girl inside and she quickly sat up. She was a small thing, made smaller by barely being fed, with dark blonde hair. She was only dressed in a pair of jeans and a thin T-shirt and looked like she hadn’t properly bathed in days. Her wide, fearful eyes met Sloane’s and Sloane put a finger to her lips. The girl swallowed, glancing at the door at the top of the stairs, but then back to her with a shaky nod. Sloane then inspected the window. She took off her sweat shirt and put it against the glass with a bit of pressure. She wished she had duct tape. But with a deep breath, she took out her knife and pounded the handle against the glass enough to crack it, slightly muffled by the shirt.

“What was that?” Gant asked.

“Oh dammit!” Rosalee said, loud enough Sloane could just hear her. “I was rinsing out a glass and slipped and broke in the sink!”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. At least it’s in the sink.”

“You can call me again later if you like.”

“No no, I find this really interesting and it’s not going to hurt anyone there. Please, go on.”

“Alright…well, it really depends on the colors you have in your apartment...”

“Oh, well, I have a brown leather couch, but I might be getting a new one soon. I was thinking red, or maybe more neutral like gray…”

Sloane smiled and pulled a few pieces out of the frame so she could reach in and unlock the window, swinging it inwards. She then slipped down into the basement, landing carefully on the landing on the floor without hardly a sound. She started over to the girl, glass crunching under her boots. “Hey. Ready to get out of here?”

The girl looked close to breaking down and nodded frantically. “H-Hannah and Maggie…”

Sloane frowned and sighed. “We’ll talk about them later. Right now, we need to get out of here before that guy knows I’m here.”

She nodded and slowly stood, her knees knocking together from either fear or being near starved. Sloane realized she didn’t have shoes on then. _So that’s why he put broken glass down…_ “Hold on to me,” She said, pulling the girl’s arm over her shoulders and then sweeping her up bridal style with a grunt. The girl clung to her as she stepped back over the glass slowly. Once they were on the other side, she set the girl on her feet. “I’m going to boost you up through the window, okay? Keep your head down for a bit and be _quiet,_ he’s still inside the house. There’s a woman out there near the back, she’s…with me.”

The girl nodded and Sloane knelt down to make a cradle with her hands to boost her up. The girl put her foot in her hands and Sloane quickly tried to lift her up. However, the girl’s leg suddenly buckled and she gave an involuntary shout as she felt backwards, toppling a shelf of pant as well. There was a second of tense silence before Sloane quickly grabbed her up. “Move! Quick!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she said, hearing the footsteps upstairs coming towards them.

“Mr. Gant?” Rosalee was saying to the phone frantically. “Are you there?”

Gant paused and put the phone to his ear. “You sound suddenly much closer…”

Rosalee swallowed. “I-I don’t know what you mean…”

“I think you do!” He threw the phone down, breaking it.

Sloane was scrambling to get the girl back on her feet and get her up to the window. The door burst open before she could and Gant stood at the stares, looking at her lividly. “Oh! The detective from earlier! I’m fairly sure you shouldn’t be down here…”

The girl was shaking like her body was collapsing behind her. “Please, Ethan…just let me go…”

“I can’t do that, Denise. You are going to become one of my great masterpieces.”

Sloane positioned herself so that she was directly between the two of them. “You go through me first, asshole!”

Gant chuckled darkly as he moved down the steps. “You remind me of Hannah…so ready to defend the defenseless…I didn’t have plans for another work of art after Denise…but if you are volunteering, I’ll be happy to oblige!” He grabbed an easel resting near the steps among the paint supplies and held it like a spear. Rushing towards her Sloane almost dodged but realized Denise was paralyzed behind her. Gritting her teeth, she instead caught the easel in her hands and braced herself as he pushed her back slightly. “Oh, you’re strong!”

Sloane glared and wrenched the easel away, trying to pull it from his grip but he backed away with it instead. She shook out her hands and glanced back quickly at Denise. She cursed when she saw she was apparently passed out in the corner, having fainted. Turning back, she readied herself for a fight. “If we’re going to do this, then show me what you are then. What kind of wesen are you?”

He paused, a look of honest confusion coming over his face. “Wesen?”

She growled. “Don’t play dumb! I’ve hunted monsters like you all my life. What are you? Are you a Teufels Kralle? Or something thoroughly bland, like a mauzherts?” She was trying to goad him, but he regarded her with an odd look.

“What?”

“I’m a Grimm, stop trying to act dumb! I’ve lost the patience for it!”

“My dear lady,” he said in a patronizingly sweet and formal voice. “I’m not acting dumb, I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just an artist making art.”

Sloane stared and then felt a stab of shock and dread come over her. “You…you’re human?”

“Well, that depends on your definition I suppose…I always felt a true artist should try to obtain immortality,” he said, and she honestly didn’t think someone could sound that full of himself without playing a snobby caricature. It was like he was playing some sort of character.

“You’re human…you’re just a homicidal, out of his mind human…” she muttered.

He glared. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m not the crazy one here…”

“You kidnapped girls and did bird themed murders and then painted them! I think crazy people in general have more sense than you do!” Sloane said, feeling a bit like her world was tilting. Never had she met a _human_ capable of these things.

“Well, one can’t always see art when it’s in front of them…Everyone will remember me in the future though, creating art out of death!” He lunged and Sloane gasped and quickly backed away as he tried to thrust the easel into her throat.

\-------------------------

Nick sighed as he looked into the gallery, which was dark and desolate. They’d arrived too late, the shop closed and no sign of Gant or Sloane and Rosalee. Hank was in the car, doing a quick look up of Gant for his home address. When his phone started ringing, he quickly pulled it out and saw it was Rosalee calling this time.

“Rosalee? Where’s Sloane?”

“Right now, I’m hoping she’s kicking this killer’s ass. But I don’t know for sure.”

“Where are you?” Nick asked urgently.

“Fitcher Street. Gant’s address is 1053. We almost got the girl out but he heard us! Sloane’s fighting him!” Nick cursed under his breath. “I’m going back to help Sloane.”

“Rosalee, stay there and wait for us!” Nick said.

“Sorry, but I don’t think I can do that. Just get over here fast!” The line went dead.

 “Rosalee?” Nick asked the phone. “Rosalee! Dammit!”

“Nick?” Hank asked, leaning out the car window to look at him.

Nick rushed over and climbed into the driver’s seat. “1053 Fitcher Street! Sloane and Rosalee found him and the girl!”

Hank held on as Nick sped off, turning on the lights and siren as he went.

\----------------------------------

Sloane was dodging every hit Gant was throwing at her. The easel struck the water heater with a pang that Sloane knew he must’ve felt in his arms, denting and jostling the old tank and splintering the wood. He threw part of it away and kept used the pointed end like a spear to try and stab her.

“C’mon! Where’s that anger, hm? You looked ready to kill me earlier!”

Sloane froze a moment, remembering what she had told Nick about his feelings killing a normal human. Gritting her teeth, she reached into her jacket and took her knife back out from its holster. Gant’s eyes widened, not having anticipated that it seemed. “I still am.” She rushed him and he scrambled back. He tried to block her with what was left of the easel, and she swiftly kicked him in the gut. He oofed and doubled over, but then surge up with a roar he rushed her again, pushing her back like a train against the wall at the back. Their feet skidded over the broken glass on the floor but he pinned her with the easel longways against the wall.

Sloane brought the knife up and plunged it into one of his hands, making him howl and drop the easel from that hand as he staggered back. “My hand! You bitch, my hand!”

“Artists do love their hands, don’t they? she said coldly. _He’s a monster. He may not be wesen, but he’s a monster. Treat him like one._

He snarled at her and used his other hand to swing the easel around wildly. She dodged one aimed for her face coming from her left, but one swing struck her right side near her knee and she buckled, hissing as she hit part of the field of glass on her side. There were no shards thick enough to pierce her sides, but the tiny burning pricks in her skin were not welcome all the same. She saw him tensing to rush her again, and Sloane prepared to gut him like a pig when he was close enough. However movement caught her eye. Someone was coming down the steps behind him and her eyes widened. He must’ve read her reaction because he started to turn. He turned, just in time to be slashed across the face by his own pair of scissors in Rosalee’s hands. “Ugh!” He dropped the easle and staggered, putting his hands to his face.

“What are you doing, I have it covered!” Sloane shouted, quickly scrambling up and not minding the rest of the glass.

“Like I’d let you face him alone!” She said back, stilling holding the scissors like a weapon.

Gant snarled. “A couple of bitches aren’t going to kill me! I’ll kill you both and leave you here to die!”

Rosalee glared then. “Oh really?” She woged then and bared her fangs at him in her fox-like face.  “Want to try it then?”

Gant’s eyes widened and he backed away in terror, dropping the easel. “W-what the hell?! What are you?!”

Rosalee was surprised, but Sloane saw the opening. Rushing up behind him, she punched him in the back, then the backs of his knees, and then for good measure forced his body down into the glass. He screamed as the glass cut, hundreds of lacerations opening up across his torso and face.  He tried to get up, but Sloane maliciously ground her foot into his back and forced him back down. Gripping her knife, she brought it down into his thigh, forcing a louder scream out of him. Pulling it out, she glared down at him. “I’m going to slit your throat like you did to those girls,” she snarled.

Rosalee hesitated but then put a hand on her shoulder. “Sloane…Nick and Hank will be here soon. They’ll take care of him.”

She looked up defiantly. “He’s a filthy murderer!”

“Yes, and he’s going to get a trial…He’ll have to face up to what he’s done in front of everyone. That’s what Nick would want and he’s…human, isn’t he?”

Sloane huffed and puffed, warring with herself and what answer to give. “…Yes. Barely.”

“Then it’s not your duty as a Grimm to kill him. If you do this, then Renard and Nick are going to have to figure out how to hide what you did like they did for Nick, and that’s going to be hard on Nick after what happened just a couple of weeks ago. This…trash is already down. Let the courts get justice this time.”

Sloane breathed in and out, thinking over that. “…Hand me those scissors…”

\--------------

Nick and Hank pulled up to where they saw Sloane’s car, still empty. Turning the corner, he found the house and slammed on the breaks. As they started for the house though, the front door opened up and Sloane and Rosalee both came out, an unconscious girl supported between them. Sloane noticed him first and smirked tiredly. “Hey.  Was there traffic?” Rosalee rolled her eyes at Sloane but smiled a little as Nick slowed in front of them. He could see when she turned that Sloane’s left side was littered with glass and her sweatshirt stained with blood. He came forward and quickly took the girl from them, bringing her over to the car. Hank took her, pressing his fingers to her neck. She was unconscious but still alive.

Nick rounded on Sloane as he stalked back to them. “What the hell happened?!”

“What happened is Gant had broken glass all over his basement floor to keep the girls in a corner. I do not recommend fighting on top of broken glass by the way, it hurts if your opponent gets you on the ground…Then again, hurts them if you get them on the ground too.”

“And we kicked his ass,” Rosalee said. “Mostly Sloane though.”

“Eh, you got in a good shot with those scissors and gave me the opening. Also freaking him out with the woging, that was handy.”

Nick was still looking between them, torn with relief, disbelief, and a little anger that they did this all on their own. Hank was tending the girl across the street where they parked. It looked like Denise was coming around slowly but was very confused. “I-you-Okay. Back up, what happened exactly?”

 Sloane shrugged. “He pissed me off. If anyone asks though, I had probable cause when I came to question Gant and heard her yell for help. That’s how procedure works, right?”

Nick frowned. “I…think we can swing that, yeah…What really happened though?”

“I’ll explain everything, but…you might want to get in there and check things over before the rest of the police get here,” Sloane said. “We called 911 before we left.”

“Gant is bleeding on his basement floor, but he is still alive,” Rosalee added.

“He is?”

“I was convinced to show restraint…” Sloane said dryly, glancing at Rosalee.

Nick looked at her as well. “Are you okay, Rosalee?”

Rosalee smiled. “I’m fine. Not even a scratch to be honest. Sloane took the brunt of it and actually kept him from me. Was that intentional?”

“Eh…I did owe you for keeping him from turning me into a shish kabob. And…like, helping me all day,” she said, trying to be nonchalant.

Rosalee smiled. “And keeping you from killing him?”

“I could’ve gone either way, but yeah. Like you said, let the courts take care of him since he’s human.”

“He’s human?” Nick asked in surprise. “Not wesen? At all?”

Sloane sighed, not looking at him as she nodded. Rosalee gently patted her back. “We should get you to the shop and treat you now…”

“I’ll have to make a statement probably,” she said, sounding like she’d rather do anything else. “So I don’t know if I can leave just yet.”

Nick blinked, looking between them. While not exactly overly friendly, Sloane seemed much more tolerant of Rosalee’s presence and touch than she had even just a day ago.  “...So…you two got Gant…together. And he’s alive?”

“Alive, last we saw him. At the bottom of his basement stairs with a stab wound in his thigh. From a pair of scissors.”

“Scissors?”

“Well…that’s what’s in his thigh now. It’s not a knife wound anymore,” she said with a small smile. Nick wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she meant. “Anyway, I tied off his leg so he should survive until an ambulance comes. I just figured we should get the girl outside first. She wasn’t hit, to the best of my knowledge. I think she’s just in a bad way from lack of care…”

Nick nodded slowly. “Okay…You two wait out here then, I’ll go check it out.”

Sloane nodded and sighed as she sat down on the house’s stoop. Nick pulled his gun and headed inside. She looked up at a point on the horizon of the setting sun, zoning out a little. Rosalee frowned and sat next to her. “You okay?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“No, I mean…are you…”

Sloane frowned and looked at her. “What?”

Rosalee hesitated but then reached up. Sloane flinched just slightly at her hands near her face, but she gently ruffled a lock of hair. “You have glass in your hair,” Rosalee said lamely.

“…Pretty sure I got it other places too…” Sloane said, looking confused. They looked at one another and Sloane actually huffed out a laugh when Rosalee started giggling. An oddly giddy feeling was in Sloane’s chest, as though just having someone care about something so stupid as glass in her hair made the whole scenario that much better or that much stranger.

Inside, Nick swept his gaze around the room just past the front hall. There was a dress spread out on the floor, badly painted black with dripping black feathers sewn to it, not quite finished. Nick shook his head a little, marveling a little at the lengths this man went to. It was both good and bad to know a human was capable of such things. Good because then he had to admit that sometimes he might have to fight them as well and wesen aren’t the only scary creatures in the world. Bad because, well, what he did was monstrous. He went to a side room, opening it up to look inside. It looked as though this was where Gant had done is more conventional art. A canvas was set up over a tarp on the floor, a charcoal sketch taking shape on it. Nick’s stomach turned when he recognized the form of a woman being hung from the neck, but there was the form of a bird around it. It looked like a bird you might see in a butcher shop window once upon a time, dead, hung up and displayed for purchase. _He was planning a fourth victim…Probably more after he skipped town._ He closed the door and looked around the room. He paused when he saw the basement door was open, when he was sure it had been closed a moment ago. There was a smeared trail of blood running across the hardwoods around the corner. He heard something bang in the kitchen and quickly moved towards it. “Portland PD! If someone’s there, you better put your hands up!”

He rounded the corner to see a man that must be Gant, resting on his open oven door. His leg had a large wound in it, but there was a tourniquet around his thigh made from his belt. He looked up at him, eyes fevered and crazed, and smiled at him. “Oh…hello, officer.”

Nick trained the gun on him. “John Gant, you are under arrest for kidnapping and murder.”

“I prefer Ethan,” he said dazedly. “And I’m afraid I’ve already chosen my death…it was going to be Denise’s beautiful send off…but I guess I’ll be the raven now.”

Nick paused and took a deep breath through his nose when he scented something in the air. Looking at the oven, he realized it was a gas range. Gant had turned the gas on every burner and the oven on on, and it was quickly permeating the room. In his hand was a lighter. “Gant, don’t do this!” Gant smiled and put his thumb on the striker. Turning, Nick rushed back to the door and threw it open. “Run!”

Sloane and Rosalee jumped, looked at each other, and then sprang up to sprint across the street, Nick on their heels. Nick and Hank made sure Denise came with them and they all huddled behind the SUV. Seconds later there was a loud, echoing boom that shook the street and made Denise scream. They turned to see the windows blown out, the roof and walls in tatters, and the house smoldering and catching on fire.

“Holy shit…” Hank said. “What…?”

“He blew himself up,” Nick said. “That was his plan for…” He didn’t finish, looking at Denise who was clinging to Hank and crying.

“…I guess in a way, he still recreated that last painting…” Rosalee said, just as the fire department and ambulance pulled up. Nick remembered the unfinished piece and was glad it was going to stay unfinished.

\-------------------

It was late in the evening when Nick, Sloane and Rosalee were back in the shop. Sloane had given convincing lies to the emergency responders and fellow officers about what happened—saying she, Nick, and Hank interrupted Gant as he was preparing to kill Denise and got her to safety. They did their best to keep Rosalee out of it, since they didn’t want her to get questioned too, and kept her hidden in the car. The EMTs took Denise away at the scene to quickly be treated. Denise had trouble forming words due to delirium from dehydration and hunger, which was a large part of why she blacked out. They rushed her to the hospital to administer fluids but said she’d likely make a full recovery. Hank was fairly certain her memory of her rescue was going to be fuzzy at best, which would work in their favor.

At the shop, Rosalee was gently picking glass from the side of Sloane’s arm with a pair of tweezers while Nick was coordinating with Renard by phone about the case. “You sure you didn’t want the EMTs doing this?”

“I was getting sick of the questions,” Sloane sighed.

“I’m surprised you’re letting me do this…”

Sloane just grunted, not looking at her and zoning out again like she had on the steps of the house before it blew up. Rosalee frowned and put the tweezers down, thinking she’d gotten all the glass. She took the jar of salve Sloane had brought in and gently applied it. It had an odd scent and she wanted to know what it was made out of, but decided that was a question for another day. “You okay?”

“I’ve had worse,” she said flippantly.

“No, I mean…are you…”

Sloane frowned and looked at her. “What? We did this earlier, what is it?”

“You seem…disturbed by this. And I would’ve thought you’d have seen far worse,” Rosalee finally said.

“…I have. But that was all done by wesen. This…this was a human. A _human._ I…” She sighed and shook her head. “Forget it.”

“No, go on…” Rosalee said gently.

Sloane was quiet and she sighed when she finally spoke. “Since I was nine, I’ve been told humans are the victims. The ones we protect, because they can’t protect themselves. That all the evil in the world was because of wesen.” Rosalee frowned but didn’t interrupt. “And…I believed that. I had to. I had to believe that wesen were the inherent evil of this world and that we were protecting the poor humans. I mean I knew there were bad humans out there, but never like this. Not without some influence, like a mind altering effect a wesen produces. But from everything we’re finding out, Gant just…snapped. So …I guess it’s put more things in perspective…”

Rosalee hummed as she wrapped gauze around the cuts. “…I think evil can dwell anywhere.” Sloane looked at her, arching an eyebrow. “I’m the first to admit there are a lot of devious, evil wesen in the world. My brother was killed by a couple of junkie skalengeks after all. And I’ve seen and heard of other horrific things. But then to us, Grimms are the boogeymen who put our heads on pikes and brand us like animals…”

“I’ve never—” Sloane started.

“Maybe not you, but can you say it’s never happened?”

Sloane closed her mouth then sighed. “No…I know it has…even today.”

Rosalee nodded. “To us, Grimms are the scary ones…or at least they should be. But Nick doesn’t scare me anymore. Not that way. Monroe should scare me too. Blutbad are pretty well known among wesen as being powerful and primal. But he’s…gentle with me. And kind. Nick is too. He said he was sorry when I came to see what happened to my brother, and I believe him. So if there can be a Grimm like him, I know there can be good in the world where you least expect it. Just like there can be evil where you think there can’t be. But you know…I’d much prefer being friends with you than being enemies or…super tense work partners.” Sloane was quiet, letting Rosalee finish her first aid. “There.”

“…Thanks,” she said, flexing her arm around the bandage a little and finding it acceptable.

“You’re welcome. Um…maybe you could give me a ride home later?”

“Ride home?”

“Yeah. I checked my car when we got back, just being hopeful, and it’s still dead. As a doornail. Not starting or even running the lights,” she sighed.

Sloane regarded her a moment and seemed about to say something when Nick walked back in the room. “Sloane, Renard wants to talk to you.”

Sloane sighed and stood, taking the phone and walking back to the other side of the shop. “Yes…Sir?”

“Sir? Well, this is a change.”

She sighed again. “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me things like “I acted rashly” and “This isn’t how police are supposed to investigate things.””

“And what would you say to me if I did?” he asked, sounding amused.

Sloane gritted her teeth. “I’d say…you’re right. I’m still trying to act like the lone Grimm, and that’s not how this arrangement is going to work. I could’ve gotten a victim killed today, least of all myself and the fu… Rosalee. And Nick too, with the house exploding…”

“Indeed. I’m glad to hear you’ve reflected on all that.”

“I maintain I did the right thing even if I was wrong in my assumptions,” Sloane said. “If I’d been late, the victim would very possibly be dead.”

Renard sighed. “I’ll give you that, I suppose.”

“But I do see now…working with what tools I’m given is essential. And that includes having partners of some sort. But it’s still new for me. The vast majority of my time has been spent alone or very brief team ups. I don’t…really know how this works that well,” she admitted awkwardly.

“Truthfully, when you do work with them, you do a good job,” Renard said. “I think you just need to stop thinking so hard that you have to shoulder everything on your own.”

Sloane was quiet before sighing. “I suppose so.”

“I expect a better work ethic and a better team experience from now on.”

Sloane rolled her eyes. “Okay.”

“Okay…?”

She sighed. “Okay, _captain_.”

“Thank you.”

“You enjoy that a little too much…”

“Perhaps, but it is one of the few joys in my life.”

Sloane snorted. “Is that all?”

“For now. I expect a full report on my desk by tomorrow evening.”

Sloane inwardly groaned. “Yessir…”

“That also means I expect you at the station bright and early as well.”

Sloane’s eyebrow ticked up but she smirked. “I get it…”

“Very well then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you,” She hanged up and went to return the phone with the shop door suddenly flew open with bang and a tinkling of the bell.

“Where’s Rosalee!?” Monroe shouted.

Sloane blinked, still on edge but trying to relax. After all, this Blutbad was Nick’s friend and Rosalee’s boyfriend, she supposed he could be trusted. “She’s in the back. We—”

Monroe’s eyes were red as blood when he got to her, snarling. “If she’s hurt, I’m going to tear your throat out!”

Sloane’s eyes widened and she stepped back before she tensed again, glaring with a sneer. _Or not_. “Try it, blutbad…I dare you.”

Monroe growled but before he could move, Rosalee rushed out, Nick right behind her. “Monroe, I’m fine!” She said, getting between the two of them. “Look, barely a scratch! Calm down!”

Monroe blinked. “I…oh…But...”

“I chose to go with Sloane and help, and Sloane got hurt a lot more than I did…helping save a girl’s life.”

“Oh…” he looked at Sloane who was still glaring at him. “I, um…I’m sorry, I-”

“Whatever,” Sloane said, shoving Nick’s phone back at him. “I get it, I’m leaving.”

“Sloane,” Rosalee started.

“It’s fine. Somethings don’t change,” she said, heading out the door. She glanced back at towards where Rosalee’s car was parked and paused before heading to her own car.

Rosalee gave an annoyed look at Monroe, who hanged his head sheepishly. “I’m sorry…I just…I could barely get ahold of you all day so I got worked up and worried…”

Rosalee sighed and shook her head. “I know…But we were making good progress I think…”

Nick looked at the door. “Weirdly…I think you were too actually. I just hope she’s open to change at all…I’m still not so sure.”

Rosalee frowned but sighed as they filed back out and she headed to Monroe’s yellow beetle to head home.

\------------------------------

When they returned in the morning, Monroe moved to park near the back of the shop where Rosalee’s car still sat. “I’ll call the tow shop again today, see if they can come out…What the hell?” Monroe said, stopping the car near the entrance to the alley. Someone was leaning over her car’s engine, apparently tinkering with it. Rosalee was out already, rushing over.

“Hey, I don’t know what you’re doing but you’re not stealing-” Sloane straightened up and looked at her, her brow arched, and Rosalee stopped short. “Sloane? What are you doing?”

Sloane had a black bandana tied to keep her hair covered and back, a little bit of grease on her cheek and shirt. “Your alternator is dead.”

“What?”

Sloane turned back, moving a socket wrench in her hand. “Your car won’t start because your alternator died. Simple enough to fix. It’ll be about $400 to $500 for a new one. But I won’t charge for the labor, and you don’t need to tow it anywhere because I can fix it here.”

Rosalee blinked owlishly before smiling a little. “I see. You…know a lot about cars?”

“I practically lived in mine for the last 10 years, so I had to learn upkeep and such.” She straightened, what must be the alternator in hands, a metallic fan-like device a little smaller than her head. “I can change a tire, do an oil change, replace spark plugs, breaks, and radiators, and lucky for you, alternators as well.”

Rosalee smiled brightly. “That is lucky. I’ll, uh, give you money for the new one then…do you think you can fix it today?”

She put the alternator in an old cloth bag, putting her gloves and other tools in a small tool box next to it and grabbing a rag to wipe off her hands. “If they have an appropriate new one for you at a parts store, yes. If not, they’ll need to order it for you.”

“Great!” Rosalee said excitedly. She then tilted her head slightly in question. “Um…why are you fixing it for me though?”

Sloane paused as if being caught at something. Flushing slightly, she cleared her throat. “I just don’t want to be indebted to you…”

Rosalee couldn’t help but smile a bit. “For…?”

“…Helping me,” she muttered.

Rosalee smiled a little more. “I’m grateful for the help with my car…but you know, I’d have been fine if with just being your friend.”

Sloane flushed more. “I…don’t think…”

Rosalee gently patted her shoulder. “One thing at a time?”

“…yeah.” She grabbed the bag up. “I’d better get to the station. I’ll pick up an alternator and bring it back by later to install it.”

“I’ll give you my card for it,” she said, opening her purse. “Just don’t go on a shopping spree. $500 isn’t bad, but it’s still not cheap for me right now…”

“I’ll keep that in mind…” She took the card and headed back to her own car, giving Monroe and icy glance as she passed his car.

Monroe got out, looking at her go and then back to Rosalee. “What just happened?”

Rosalee smiled a little. “I’m hoping it was progress…”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Part 4! This is an original one based on "Fitcher's Bird". Very similar to the robber bridegroom, but a bit more bird themed. I nearly called this chapter "A Murder Most Fowl", but even I groaned at that pun...But yes, this is where Sloane starts being a bit more open to working with the others and less grouchy. Rosalee seems like the type who would pick up on that sort of thing, I figured she'd be the one to get the ball rolling. Finding out the killer is human really kind of rocked her world view enough to help too. That's not going to be the last time something really does that for her though...
> 
> Edit: Realized, I forgot some wesen information!  
> Teufels Kralle is based on a Harpy Eagle for the most part, who's talons can be as large as a grizzly bears claws. Make them human sized, that's probably larger than your fingers!
> 
> Teanga Fola-Irish for "Blood Tongue". Based on the Irish Magpie, it's said that magpies have a drop of the devil's blood under their tongue, and that they often cause trouble and are bad luck.


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